Assassin Isn't A Verb
by Taila-Tai
Summary: Living with an assassin was really bloody hard - boyfriend or not. If she wasn't struggling to understand him and his hero friends, she was being kidnapped, and if she wasn't being kidnapped, she was staring down a murder bot? Samara never thought she'd miss those quiet nights in, where the only life or death moments were on the television. The one-shot sequels to Decadence
1. Adventure I

"This is getting kinda old, gorgeous."

Bucky didn't even move, only letting out a small grunt to show he'd heard. He seemed quite content to stay where he was – with feminine curves between his body and the sand, and then sand between said feminine curves and the shoreline. It meant there was not one, but _two_ measures of protection keeping him safe from the dreaded ocean waves.

The man was a goddamn assassin but he was scared of the ocean? Fucking brilliant. This was her life now.

The woman let out a sigh, narrowing her eyes. Now she was being treated like some fleshy barrier and – and wait, did this mean she was his last line of defence. What the hell did he expect her to do of the water levels rose then? Shoot the waves? Insult its family? Call it nasty names?

The chest pressed against her back moved, a low grumble starting there before travelling up the man's throat.

Samara spared the water a look, watching it lick up the beach and force the arms around her middle to tense. "You know it was only a movie, don't you?" she whispered, feeling lips brush against the bared curve of her shoulder. The assassin continued the displeased sound, each rolling growl making her mouth dry out. "There's not _actually_ a gigantic shark out there waiting to nibble on you. Besides, even if there was, what's the worst that can happen?"

The breath he let out fanned across skin. "I lose the other arm?" he mocked, tucking her closer and glaring around her form. The position wasn't _uncomfortable_ , per say, but she didn't like being used as damn human shield.

"You'd punch it in the face," the doctor countered instantly. "Come on, I want to go in the water!"

"I'm not stopping you. But if you get eaten, don't come crying."

Samara let out a frustrated sound, wiggling in his grip until she'd successfully turned her upper body to face him. It wasn't easy, not with the death grip he had on her waist and the thighs barracking her hips, but she managed. "You can't honestly be this afraid of water?" she demanded, one hand coming up to flick his nose in reprimand. "And since when did you become so clingy? You're not the – the winter octopus now, are you? James Buchanan _Barnacle."_

Bucky stared at her for a few seconds. "That last one was pretty good," he praised absently, eyes flicking to the water when the others let out squeals and screaming laughter. "Sammy, if you want to go and – "

"I want to go and do something with _you,"_ Samara cut in softly, cupping his cheeks. "You've been so quiet lately. I'm worried."

Bucky opened his mouth, and she could almost see the lie sitting on his tongue, ready to hit the air, but strangely enough he didn't voice it. Crystalline blue eyes darted away, the colour changing in the light as he slammed his lips together.

There _was_ something bothering him. He could try lie his way out of it all he wanted, but she saw through it every time, and every time it made her heart sink a little more. The past couple of days – _the past week,_ her mind corrected – he'd been almost awkward, not lingering if he touched her and watching her when he thought she hadn't notice. It wasn't secretive behaviour, not really, but his constant guard was enough to have her worried.

It wasn't like him. He didn't keep secrets from her – not anymore – and he wasn't meant to look at her like...

Like _she_ was the enemy.

Smooth metal danced over her side, and instinctively she shied away, the broken bone overriding common sense. Bucky only gave her a pained smile. "The bruises have finally faded," he noted, trailing a hand over the skin bared by her swimsuit. "I was starting to think they never would."

"They're only bruises, course they faded," she argued thickly, frowning now as she studied him. The conversation was already turning away from where she'd thought it would go. "The bones will heal too, you know? They're feeling better already – breathing isn't so uncomfortable, and I can sigh without wanting to die."

The lame teasing didn't even earn a smile. "You'll be okay?"

Samara almost rolled her eyes – _this again? –_ but instead let her lips climb up into a smile, leaning closer so she could press their foreheads together. It put strain on her side, but the nervous breath that rattled his lungs made it worthwhile. "I'll be okay, gorgeous, don't worry about me," she commanded gently. "You can't still be fretting about that, can you? It was weeks ago?"

Bucky looked uncomfortable – not with their proximity thankfully, but with whatever was curling in his chest. The hands on her waist tightened and then loosened repeatedly, like he was clenching his fists. "What do you think of that archer guy?"

The question threw her, and she couldn't help but stare back in confusion. "Clint?"

Blue eyes darkened. "Yeah, him."

Samara blinked, leaning back and slumping over in thought. It wasn't like they'd had the chance to bond, and he'd only been around what, a _week_ before they'd left for their vacation? All she really knew about him was he had a sarcastic streak a mile long, and he didn't need a room because apparently the vents were more comfortable than a mattress could ever be.

"He seems okay?" she managed slowly, studying handsome features for a reaction. "I don't know him all too well, but he seems like a good guy? Right? We – we think he's a good guy, don't we?

Bucky let out a sigh. "Yeah, we think he's a good guy," he soothed absently.

Samara frowned openly, tapping his chin and forcing his head up. "What's your problem then? I gave you the opportunity to come out with it, but now you're being weird, changing the subject, _avoiding_ me and – and I'm getting freaked out," she confessed in a rush, crossing her arms. "You can't go all quiet on me, Barnes. You can't stop smiling and playing around without telling me _why._ So? What then? What did I do?"

Blue studied her for a few seconds before something seemed to click, and twin hands, one warm one cool, were cupping her cheeks. "Samara, beautiful, it's not anything to do with you, or us and – and no, that's a lie, it… uh, it…" he coughed, features flushing a little. "It's just…"

The doctor shifted back, pointedly putting space between them. "It's just what?" she asked weakly.

This was it then? Three days into a two-week vacation and he was about to give her the talk. _It's not you, it's me._ Even with everything that had happened, she was being dumped in the most heartless way humanly possible, not given a reason, only a poorly worded and stammered excuse.

Samara dropped her eyes, furiously begging them not to well up – she could do this, right? Just nod and agree to leave, maybe wish him well in the future before she went to pack her things. After that, she had to find a way back home – he couldn't have waited until the damn two weeks were up? – say goodbye to new friends and cry into her own pillow rather than the warm chest she'd been sleeping against.

Yeah. Yeah, she could do it. It would hurt but if he didn't want this, she refused to push, it wasn't right to –

"It's not you," Bucky said firmly, the words almost sounding vaguely irritated. It made her head snap up, eye widening as they clashed with blue. "You're perfect. I said _us_ because… because I heard someone mention something and now..." he paused again, throat working and eyes darting away to hit the sand with a heated glare. "Now I can't stop _thinking_ about it."

Samara felt her brow tick down. "Um, what did you hear someone mention?" she asked slowly, hesitating before clasping silver fingers between her own. It was welcomed thankfully, a small squeeze pressing around her palm. "Buck, come on, what's up?"

Bucky looked up with narrowed eyes, the colour looking over her shoulder. "It was the archer," he muttered again, and while he looked annoyed, exhaustion drained any real heat from the expression. "It was early, the day after he arrived, and I went to get you some water from the kitchen – something to take your painkillers with – but he was there. Natasha too."

"And?"

The blue finally landed on her, hazy and concerned. "Natasha must have been explaining everything to him. Letting him in on what that happened since Washington," he shrugged, wrapping a hand around her ankle and yanking her closer. It put sand in places she'd rather it didn't, but she let him go back to idly drawing patterns in skin. "She uh, she said we're cute together."

Samara rolled her eyes. "Please god, don't say that's what's got you in a mood?" she sighed. "Because damn right we're cute together. If you can't accept that, I'm sorry but that's the kind of negativity I don't need in my life. I think we should take a break."

"Sammy, don't." The assassin looked aged suddenly, like the exhaustion had reached its peak, as he watched the others play around behind them. " _Natasha_ said we were cute, but the archer he... he didn't agree. He thought maybe it was – actually, the exact words he said was that he's _sure_..." Bucky gathered his words with an awkward grunt. "Stockholm Syndrome, is uh, what he said."

The words sucked the oxygen from the air, and suddenly it felt like she was choking. _"Buck…"_

Bucky let out a weak chuckle. "I'm glad you know what the fuck he was talking about. I didn't, had to ask Jarvis to explain it to me in small words," he admitted, voice strained and still mockingly amused. "Did you know that it's basically a survival mechanism? Captive develops a bond with their captor. Thinks they're human. Thinks the good guys, the police, the army, are really the bad guys. I thought it was stupid at first, then I started looking a little closer at our relationship. I, uh, I didn't think it was so stupid then."

Samara felt her chest shift too fast with every breathe, enough to spark up pain in her side. The thought had never entered her mind before, but now it wrapped around like her like vines, making her flinch back from the man and his accusation.

Bucky frowned at the twitch. "I don't know if you want to hear this but – "

"I don't. I really, really don't." Samara decided, pushing to her feet and stumbling back. The chuckle that pushed past her lips sounded _manic_. "I think I need to eat something."

The mumbled words were a poor excuse to escape, but it gave her enough time to start moving back towards the small mansion on the beach front. Stockholm. It wasn't something people threw around without care. It was a serious condition, she knew that much, knew it wasn't something you laughed at, or brushed aside. It was mental, in your head, something she couldn't _fix_.

But it didn't… it didn't _mean_ anything to them, did it? Yeah, she'd developed a _bond_ with him, but what person wouldn't? It had been two weeks in his company, what was she expected to do? Hate him?

Then again, being broken into, kidnapped and held at knife point _should've_ made her hate him.

"Samara, wait."

Stockholm though, didn't it take more than mere weeks to develop, and didn't it need a direr situation? There hadn't been any need for some survival instinct to kick in because there hadn't been a risk to her survival, right? It had been made clear from day one, that if she wanted to leave, she was more than welcome too. Barely an hour into their first meeting, he'd _fainted_ for fucks sake. He'd given her the perfect opportunity to hand him in and she _hadn't._

It had been _her mind_ – not the symptoms of some syndrome – that had decided the man was worth helping.

The mansion was cooler than the beach, and the first burst of air conditioning was like a slap to the face. There was no syndrome affecting her mind – and they were both fucking idiots for ever thinking there was.

Bucky grabbed her upper arm, spinning her around and tearing her back from her thoughts. "Samara, goddamn it, I said wait," he snapped, panting lightly to recover from the impromptu jog. His eyes fell to the silver fingers wrapped around her skin, and he paled, dropping her arm. "You can't run from everything, you know? Sometimes you have to deal with it."

The only reply she gave was a disinterested hum. _Where was the kitchen again?_

The assassin might've let her get away before, but he wasn't keen on letting it happen again. There was a low growl before she'd taken more than a step, fingers grabbing the curve of her shoulder and slamming her back against the glass slider. "I said _wait_."

Samara blinked. "I'm hungry," she announced dully, giving his hand a pointed look. "I want something to eat."

"You want an excuse to run and hide," Bucky countered quickly. "But I'm not going to let you. This has been making me suffer for days, it's _your_ turn now."

The words should've bugged her, they should've made her hackles rise and a comment build on her tongue but they didn't. Samara gave a muted sigh, meeting the hard glare and shaking her head. "You're an idiot," she murmured softly, brushing away his hand. "My idiot. Come on, think about it. Something like that doesn't develop overnight, it needs weeks and – and if you remember, it was _overnight_ that I decided to help you. You woke up in a bed, not handcuffs, remember? If anything I was the captor."

Bucky was the one who blinked now. "No, I..."

"Buck, _please._ You fainted within the first hour, I had all the time in the world to call the cops. I didn't. I'm still fuzzy on the why, but there... there was something my mum used to tell me when I was younger. You can be on the side of the angels, but be the devil, or you can be on the side of the devil but be an angel," she smiled minutely, no longer wondering why the phrase had stuck with her so damn long. "I was the one who thought you needed help, not some survivalinstinct. You understand that, right?"

Bucky frowned, shifting his weight. "How did you know I was… an angel, then?" he tested, leaning away and giving her more space to breathe. "How did you know not to call the cops on me? I didn't give you any reason to think I was a good person."

"You didn't give me any reason to think you weren't."

"I gave you enough," Bucky grumbled roughly. "I had a knife remember?"

Samara sighed, taking his hand and leading him to the nearest flat surface. "Wanna know what my first thought about you was?" she questioned, continuing to lug him around. He went willingly enough, letting her tug him down beside her on the couch. "Apart from the _shit he's so huge he could snap me in two like a toothpick_? My first thought was that you reminded me of a wild animal. Scared, cornered."

Bucky snorted. "I was not _scared._ Cornered maybe, confused definitely. But I wasn't scared," he argued, slumping back against the cushions. "After what I've seen there is very little that terrifies me."

"I terrify you, don't I?" Samara smiled coolly. "I know I do. I'm new, I'm unpredictable, and what's worse is, I matter to you."

The fleeting glare was enough of an answer.

The doctor grinned more warmly now, leaning over to bump his shoulder with her own. "See? I win, now shut up so I can finish my monologuing," she commanded, taking a deep breath in and sorting her thoughts. "James – don't argue, you're lucky I didn't use your full name – we developed a bond because I wanted us too, okay? You fought it, I'll give you that, but you still lost and that's why we're where we are. It wasn't some animalistic instinct. I wasn't trying to win you over so you wouldn't kill me. I was trying because I thought I was doing the right thing."

Bucky swallowed, his throat bobbing before he let out a sigh. "Stockholm…" he cleared his throat. "It's not here? That's all I want to know. I don't care about your reasoning, I just wanna know you're with me 'cause you wanna be."

"Yeah, I'm with you cause I wanna be, you big nerd," Samara chuckled. "God, what a sap."

The comment didn't even earn her a laugh, big blue eyes watching her closely, like a scientist through a microscope. "I just didn't want – I didn't want to find out I'd basically taken away your free will. That it wasn't really _you_ that was happy here, but some primal part of your head that had told you to be. It's too familiar, and I couldn't bear the thought of doing that to you."

And why hadn't she fucking thought of it like that?

Samara closed her eyes, wincing in time with her heartbeat. "I didn't think... " she admitted quietly, cursing under her breath. "Buck, _no_ , I'm here because I want to be. I made this choice, I promise, please – "

The kiss was perfectly lazy, warm against her lips and she hummed in surprise. "I believe you," Bucky allowed, rubbing his thumb over the length of her cheek. God, she'd missed that. "I mean, why wouldn't you love me?"

"Speaking of love, that's the first time you've kissed me decades," she mocked gently, pressing a fleeting caress to his cheek before hugging him. "And speaking of love again, since it seems to be the popular topic, I would love to punch archer guy in the face right now."

Bucky chuckled, squeezing her softly before pulling back. "He has a name, darling."

Samara bowed her head in acknowledgement. "That's weird, so do my fists," she countered, lifting clenched hands and gesturing to each of them in turn. "This one is called _karma,_ and this one is _justice._ They protect the innocent and punch the not so innocent. Usually in the face. Don't you know how the legal system works in this day and age? When someone is found guilty of being a jerk, someone is then punched. Archer guy is someone."

The assassin let out a practised sigh. "You're not punching anyone."

"I don't wanna punch anyone, I wanna punch archer guy."

"You're not punching archer guy."

"Oh, so you're gonna punch him?"

Bucky adopted an exasperated look. "No one is going to punch anyone, okay?" he announced, eyeing her awkwardly like he expected her to start swinging. It wasn't him she wanted to punch, so she didn't know why he'd expect such a thing.

"Duh. I know that. I'm gonna punch archer guy, he's not anyone. He's archer guy. Got a name remember?"

The glass sliding door squeaked under a hand, and both sets of eyes – one amused and the other frustrated – darted to the door. Steve was leaning against the archway, expression worried and cheeks flushed red. "Um, are you two okay? Tasha said you looked like you were fighting?" he stammered awkwardly, clearing his throat with every word. "Just wanted to check up on you."

Samara turned with a set gleam in her eye, and a rigidness to her shoulders. "Clint is a dead man," she declared, pushing to her feet and brushing away grabbing silver fingers. "Better yet, he's a wounded man. Both his face _and_ his pride."

Steve looked behind her for help. "Uh, what?"

Bucky grabbed her waist before she could move, pulling until she hit his lap with a muffled sound of surprise. "Don't worry about it, punk," he promised brightly, holding tighter when she started to squirm. Damn it, why was he ten times stronger than she was? "We had a little disagreement but we worked it out. Oh, and Barton will be fine. This one is all talk and no walk, if you know what I mean."

The super soldier chuckled at them both, shoulders slumping forward and death grip on the door releasing. "You had me worried for a second there," he admitted. "Clint's a good friend. I'd hate to see him wounded."

"That's a shame, because soon you're gonna."

Bucky squeezed her hips in a reprimanding manner, earning a squeak. "As I said, don't worry. All talk and no walk."

* * *

Turns out she had some walk in her after all.

Clint held the cloth to his face with a sour expression, annoyed every time he pulled it away and saw the crimson splattered on the material. It was strange that he was irritated at his body's bleeding – apparently twenty minutes was too long for a bloody nose to last – rather than the woman who made it bleed in the first place, but he wasn't going to argue. Bucky was happy as long as the archer didn't decide to swing back.

"Do you need another face cloth?" Samara offered brightly, holding up the white material with a shit eating grin. If she had any regrets about the right hook, it didn't show. "That one's looking a little run down."

Clint snorted, and then instantly groaned when the red wash started anew. "Give me the damn cloth," he hissed, snatching it from dangling hands.

Samara practically skipped back to the assassins side, dropping onto his lap without a care in the world. It would've set some darker part of his mind alight with possessive delight, but all he did was quirk up a brow and rest both hands over her legs. "What?" she asked, seeing the look directed her way. "I was being nice. Look, I gave him something to cover up his shame and embarrassment."

Bucky smothered a smile. "That's not nice, beautiful," he informed her, turning to catch a glimpse of the archer and his reddening shirt. It was a shame he'd decided to wear white that morning. "That's you rubbing the salt in the wound."

"That sounds about right," Clint muttered, voice thick.

Samara glared, like she was scolding him for speaking up in the first place. "So what if it is?" she grumbled childishly, crossing her arms and lifting her chin. "I have salt, he has a wound. Forgive me for making use of both things."

Natasha – who'd surprisingly let the hook come even though she could've easily stopped it – gave an appeasing smile. "Is someone still a little bitter?"

The doctor didn't glare at her though, apparently not willing to rock the boat that much or happy someone was on her side. "Maybe," she allowed slowly, blinking lazily at the woman. "I was actually just thinking how his cheek is looking relatively unharmed from where I'm sitting. Am I going blind or is he only bleeding from _one_ of the many orifices on his features?"

Bucky smothered a chuckle into a clothed shoulder.

"You're terrifying," Tony squeaked from across the room, ducking behind a broad blond shoulder. "Remind me to never make you mad. No, scratch that. Jarvis make a note – do not fuck with the doctor unless you're willing to embrace death."

Jarvis didn't miss a beat. _"Note made, sir."_

Natasha gave a warm hum, coming closer to pet the archer consolingly on the back. "I think you should make another note," she warned lightly. "Do not fuck with the renowned assassin unless you're willing to embrace death. Something tells me she doesn't take well to people screwing around with her plaything."

"I don't take well to people screwing with the people I love," Samara corrected quietly, tucking her body comfortably against the broader one beneath her own. It was the movements that made him smile, the words that made him melt, and the glare she directed at the archer that made him wince in sympathy. "I'll admit the hook was a little much, but you had no right to make assumptions like that. Even if you thought we'd never hear it."

Clint hesitated, but gave a short nod and dorky smile. "This is the part where you make me feel guilty, isn't it?" he asked, looking around the room and taking in the nods. "Natasha is teaching you well, I see."

Natasha grinned. "I haven't even started giving her lessons yet. Our dear Samara is this evil all on her lonesome."

Another squeak. _"Terrifying."_

Clint looked to the two who had spoken, humour and irritation fading into something almost pensive. "The hook wasn't too much – I've had worse. But I'm glad we've..." he paused, pursing his lips and checking with the red head. They spoke _spy_ for a few seconds, the archer deciding everything with a firm nod. "I'm glad we've settled this? Drew some lines, so to speak. I know how far I can go now before I get punched in the nose."

"Next time I'm aiming lower," Samara growled, giving him a quirked brow and pointed look. If there was any heat behind it, it was dissipated by the kitten like way she snuggled down further into her assassin's lap. " _Much lower."_

Tony made a strangled sound.

"Next time I'm swinging back," Clint countered, wrinkling his nose and throwing the cloth to the side. There was the slightest dribble of red coming from his nostril, but compared to the gushing fountain from ten minutes ago, it was nothing. "Creepy assassin guard dog boyfriend or not, I'll swing, _and_ I'll land one. You'll be looking at more than broken pride, honeycakes."

Bucky felt his brow tick down. "Did he call – _honeycakes?_ Boy, I'm going to punch you next," he warned, tightening the grip he had on slim hips. "Soon you'll be looking at more than a broken nose, sweetheart."

Natasha blinked. "Take it they haven't met Laura?"

"Laura?" Tony questioned. "Who's Laura?"

Clint took a deep breath in, staring down the red head. It was another conversation, spoken through silence and wiggling eyebrows, and it was another win for the female. "Laura Barton. Laura Barton as in my _wife_ , Laura Barton," he shrugged, looking more than a little uncomfortable. "It's why I'm not staying the whole trip. I promised to take the kids to the water park next week…"

Tony almost tripped over his own feet, while sitting down and also completely still. _"Kids?"_

Golden eyes blinked, and there was a look of confusion before; _"You have kids?"_ was cutting through the air. It was enough to make the soldier she was using as a pillow wince. "Oh, how old are they? Past the terrible toddler phase I hope?"

The smile the archer gave was the first genuine one he'd seen from him. "Yeah, my babies, they're the most important things in my life. Cooper is the oldest, and Lila is my youngest, but we're… we're trying for a third. I'm not a fan of even numbers, you know?" he teased, not even bothered when the small dribble started flowing more freely. "Unless we have twins. In that case, I'm gonna have to accept it."

Samara straightened up, murmuring a soft apology when she elbowed her assassin. "Triplets would really make you a happy person," she mused gently, brushing her bangs away from her features. "Your wife knows then, I take it?"

Clint didn't ask for an elaboration. "Yeah, she does. It doesn't mean she's _happy_ about it, but she thinks these guys need me."

Gold hit him hard, and Bucky barely managed anything more than a breathless smile. "Sounds about right," Samara chuckled, scratching lightly at stubbled cheeks. "I'm not _pleased_ he's decided that risking his life every other day is a viable career option, but well – well, without him, you guys would probably be less awesome as you kick ass. You'd still kick ass, but you'd be lame."

Bucky nodded. "Looking awesome is what really matters. Not that whole _saving the world_ nonsense."

"Hear, hear," Samara allowed, holding up a pretend cup and clicking it with silver fingers.

The archers gave an obedient laugh. "Yeah, anyway um, guys, okay…" Clint winced and straightened up. "Okay listen, this can't leave the mansion. Fury went through a lot of trouble to keep it quiet, and I'd like to keep it that way, I'm sure you understand?" Everybody murmured agreements, happy to allow the small notion. "Tony? Tony, why didn't I hear your smooth vowels?"

Steve looked shocked. "He - he fainted."

Samara snorted, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "What a weakling. Anyway, please god, can I met your kids? I hate babies, but after the age of like, five and six, I love them. Your kids are over those ages right, otherwise, I'm sorry but yeah, no way are they coming within six feet. I have a world-wide restraining order. You'll find that it holds up in court."

Bucky couldn't stop the small laugh, head tipping back. _"You'll_ find that that's not how it works, beautiful," he pointed out, tugging on the strings holding her bikini together. It earned a squeak and he grinned. "You can't miss the first six years of your child's life."

"Restraining orders can't be ignored."

"You'll find that kids can't be either."

Samara frowned. "You always suck the fun out of life."

Clint touched a hand to the bruising on his nose. "Nah, when there are kids in the picture you'll find there's no fun left to suck out," he grinned, pushing to his feet. "I've got my laptop with me, do uh, do you guys wanna skype my family? Coop loves to meet new people."

* * *

 **And we're back with act two!**

 **I have many, many things planned with all these one shots. I have been listening to all your requests, not to worry, and trust me, I am doing them all. You'll need to give me some time though, of course, but I'll get them all out. Please remember, this isn't a story that will be updated on a weekly basis or on a schedule, it is simply whenever I've written something.**

 **I do have other things I'm working on – believe it or not, I do, hush – and I don't want to put them too far onto the back burner. There are stories I've been promising for a while now, and I need to get them out.**

 **Taila xx  
P.S Jesika, my beautiful beta, I love you**


	2. Adventure II

" _Incoming!"_

The shouted warning made him turn, cautiously curious, but it didn't give him enough time to react. Before he could so much as quirk a brow, something hit him square in the face, barely leaving a mark but shattering his pride to hell.

"Oh, ouch, and he misses the ball. That doesn't look good for the team or for the world champion series."

Reflexes managing to grab the bag before it hit his lap – but apparently not his _face_ – Bucky let out a low growl and glared across the room. "Watch it," he muttered, resisting the urge to rub where he'd been whacked. "I might throw something back one of these days."

Bounding over to the bed, his doctor let out a snort and furiously scrambled onto the mattress, aching ribs forgotten. Samara was all long legs and overactive muscles, settling beside him for less than a second before she found a reason to move again. "It's only the popcorn. Figured you're the hoarding type," she shrugged, bouncing lightly on the spot. "Man, it's hot in here. Am I right or am I crazy?"

Bucky sighed. "I told them not to give you the painkillers past eight," he murmured, reaching up to press a hand against her forehead. He knew she wasn't sick, could feel the heat burning down his own spine, but the action was something she'd done to him endless times. Felt fair to return the favour. "Turn the air conditioning on? Get changed? Jump in a lake?"

Leaning into silver fingers, she hummed, practically nuzzling into his hand. "Jarvis?"

" _I am already lowering the temperature, Doctor. If you need anything else, please do not hesitate to ask. Have a good evening."_

Samara let out a breath, pulling away and slipping from the bed. "I love that damn robot," she declared, digging through the set of drawers lining the wall. "It's a butler, a security guard, and google all wrapped up into one!"

The red shirt she pulled out, far too big for her little frame, made the heat from before change into something dangerous. Bucky forced out a chuckle, swallowing around the warmth pooling deliciously low in his gut. "Don't get too attached," he warned thickly, giving a wide smile when she looked his way. "We're only here for the rest of the weekend, then we're back home. You have an office to run remember?"

"Why do I have to run an office? I hate running," she groused, moving to tug her shirt over her head. The material froze, bunched around her bruised ribs. "Um, hey the pervert soldier? You mind?"

Bucky shifted, leaning against the headboard and grinning slowly. "Don't mind at all," he drawled.

Samara gave up a dry look, hip cocking out in displeasure. "This is the part where you cover your eyes, asshole," she demanded shortly, narrowing her own orbs. The next five seconds were still and silent as neither moved. "Well?"

Opening the packet of popcorn, he grabbed a handful and shoved it past his lips. "Well what?" he managed around the mouthful, absently registering the taste of butter and salt. Any qualms about microwaveable popcorn vanished and he happily grabbed some more with his free hand. "You did say we were gonna watch something. So, I'm watching."

Her lips popped open in shock. "I'm not – you can't just – _I am a human being!"_ she sputtered, pointedly turning her back before shucking her shirt. If she really was as irritated as she claimed, she would've left the room, but here he was; watching the lines of her back shift every time she moved her arms.

Bucky, one. Samara, zero

Bucky let the smile stay. " _My_ human being," he corrected softly, licking salt from his lips. "The bruises are completely gone. Can't say I miss them."

At the words, she swivelled more, revealing the smooth stretch of pale skin. "Yeah, same," she allowed, faltering before throwing the red shirt on. "And that goes both ways, you know? If I'm property of Bucky Barnes, then..."

"Then I'm property of Samara Masons," he finished obediently, nodding to show he understood. Her pleased look was _well_ worth the submission, and he bit his lip against a larger smile. "Okay, now that we've cleared that up, what are we watching?"

With a shrug, the woman went from studying him to studying the way his shirt fell around her figure. "I didn't actually plan this far ahead, figured you were going to put up more of a fight," she admitted in a murmur, giving him a shy smile. "I can see why you like this shirt so much. It's pretty soft and – " The sleeve was lifted to her face. " – and it smells like you."

Pushing the popcorn away, his appetite zeroed in on something else. "It looks good on you," Bucky bit out, sneaking along the mattress. Like a magnet, she gravitated towards him when he shifted, not even seeming to notice she was moving. "A little too big maybe," he chuckled, hiking up the material when it slipped from her shoulder. "Definitely too big."

"Unlike you, I'm not on steroids," Samara snorted, shooting her arm an irritable look when red fell again. "Would you stay up? Know what, I changed my mind, this shirt is an asshole. Oh hey, like father like son."

Bucky was the one with the irritated look now, brows twitching. "This is why I love you," he drawled, tugging on the sleeve so it fell down. Her argument was smothered by a firm kiss, words converting into a yelp when he yanked her closer. "Insults are affection with you, it's brilliant. I can insult you and you think I'm being a sweetheart romantic. But in reality, I actually think you're a bitch."

Teeth bit at his lower lip, and he blinked in surprise at the sudden pain. "See if I kiss you again," Samara grinned, offering no apology.

"See if I give you a choice," he countered, smoothing a finger over his lip and probing the injury. Silver came away a blood red, and he cocked his head, studying the colour. "You bit me. _Hard."_

Humming, the woman fussed over it almost mockingly, using her knuckles to wipe away the crimson. "You deserved it," she winked, straightening back up and stretching the length of her spine. "Call me a bitch again, and I'll do more than bite you, gorgeous. So, movie time? The pain meds only give me energy for so long. I need to sit down and not move for six consecutive hours."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. _Movie time?_

Flitting across the room, she started studying the television mounted on the wall, playing with the remote below it. "I should probably start catching you up on everything, right? All the big franchises, movies most likely to be referenced? Popular pop culture, you know? God knows, Tony is king of the quips. I'd hate for you not to get one of his insults."

The bed barely let out a creak as he pushed to his feet, and absently, he thanked the billionaire for sparing no expense when it came to his tower. If he had, the woman might've known he was on the move.

"Oh, we should watch an action movie. You'd appreciate that. _Bourne_ or _Bond,_ I think. I – okay so I only said _Bourne_ because he's this kick ass assassin guy who loses his memory. I was trying to be funny," she snorted, biting her lip as she tilted the remote this way and that. "I don't know how to work this thing. Most of these buttons have no reason for existence."

Bare feet made no sound as well, thank god. The only way she'd have any clue he was three feet away was if she turned.

The television came to life with a high-pitched hum, and the woman started back in surprise. "Hey, I found the on button," she exclaimed happily, waving the remote in the air as she turned and – "Mother _fucker!"_

Bucky pressed both hands against the entertainment centre, arms and body creating a small prison. "Don't swear," he scolded lightly, taking in the wide eyes with a small smile. The remote was cradled against her chest, the woman breathing through the shock with large breathes. Absently, he was pleased she could do so without any pain. "Steve might come sprinting through the door, panties in a bunch."

"You…" Samara let out a small sigh, closing her eyes. "You need to stop doing that. I can only handle so much."

Lifting his hand, he plucked the remote from her grip and dropped it to the floor, not bothering to check if it survived the impact. "You're old darling, but you're not that old. You can't use that line on me," he reprimanded quietly, canting his head to the side as he studied her features. "You don't look a day over twenty-five, my beautiful girl."

Gold snapped back open. "Give me a few more months with you, and I'll be lucky if I don't look a day over fifty," she snorted, shaking out her hair and glaring. "You stress inducing little shit. Grey hair is not attractive."

Bucky rolled his eyes skywards. "And you call me dramatic," he drawled.

"I don't corner people with my drastically impressive muscles, do I?" Samara countered, tilting her head back slightly. "I don't sneak up on them, then box them in and watch them squirm. I don't stare at people like I'm studying plant life."

The assassin chuckled, taking a minuscule step back before pointedly lifting his arms. "There we are, I've given you space," he mocked, waiting as she weighed out her options. It was amusing to watch the thoughts flash across her features, hope always followed by defeat when she realised she was stuck. "Anything else I can do for you?"

Samara eyed him. "Your breath smells like popcorn," she murmured, eyes catching on the fallen remote. There was more thought now, her brow coming down ever so slightly, but she didn't move to grab it. "Are you interested in a movie?"

 _I'm interested in something…_

Bucky hummed, lowering his chin so he could stare down the remote as well, eyes sparking. "It depends," he shrugged, shoving both hands into his pockets. Her shoulders inched down in relief when he took another step back. "I'm not really the type to sit still for so long, but if it's what you want to do, then I don't mind. Just keep the popcorn stores up."

The doctor was staring at him oddly now, her brow pinched and lips moving soundlessly. It was her little; _I'm thinking really hard about something you probably won't like_ face, and it usually meant something he didn't like was incoming. The hint was in the name.

Bucky whistled quietly as he spun to give her his back, padding across the floor and over to the neatly made bed. The damn mattress was made in heaven, and he clambered up, dropping onto his front and sighing into the rich covers. All he'd have to do is wait, and then he could distract her from whatever she'd been thinking about with – hiding the victorious smile in cotton when sound erupted behind him, he cut the thought short. Bare feet on plush carpet, soft breathing, an even softer material whispering over skin and then the bed was dipping under new weight.

Too easy.

A slight hand snuck under his shirt to rest in the centre of his back, close and comforting. "Are you tired, gorgeous?" Samara asked quietly, scratching lightly at the skin she'd commandeered before smoothing a palm over it in apology.

That can't have been what she was thinking so hard about, but he went along with it, giving a small shrug. "Sparring with the bloody punk always takes it out of me," he excused, letting his eyes slip closed. Her absent-minded ministrations continued; nails raking a small path down his spine before smooth skin would ease away the feeling. "Steve's faster than I thought. He's got a'lotta dexterity for someone his size."

"It's the same with you," she teased, her hand coming to sit in the small of his back. "You're big but you're scary quick."

Bucky rolled over, quirking a brow her way when her hand stayed in contact. It dragged over his hip before settling when he did, sitting tauntingly still on his stomach. "I was trained to be," he pointed out lightly. "Steve was always more of a heavy hitter. Get in and get it done, kinda guy. I was always told to use more discretion. Hydra usually didn't want our enemies to know I'd been where I had."

Samara bent slightly to kiss his cheek. "Explains why you're so good at the sneak," she allowed, straightening up and looking over the room. "You still haven't taught me about that crap yet. We've only had like, two assassin lessons?"

Chuckling, he held up both hands in apology. "Would you like another then?"

Golden eyes lit up and the woman bounced slightly on the spot, features twisting ever so slightly before her free hand floated to her ribs. "Pain meds only last so long," she whispered, frown in place before she looked up, realising he was watching. The smile came back in full force. "Yes, I'd like another lesson please! Just, nothing too _strenuous_ …"

Bucky moved a hand to cradle where he knew the bruises had once been, nothing more than a gentle pressure. "I taught you about running away, yeah?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "But what about when you can't? When you _must_ face the enemy, and you're not in a position to fight?"

Samara blinked in thought, both pleased he'd managed to find a situation that was relevant, but also annoyed because – "I have seriously no clue what you're expecting from me right now," she snorted, folding her legs and resting a chin in her palm. "Okay, if I can't fight with fists, I'll fight with… with words instead I guess? Does this mean you're planning on teaching me the art of charm? Sorry gorgeous, but you can't teach something you lack."

Bucky sat up slowly, narrowing his eyes. "You don't think I'm capable of conning someone into doing what I want?" he questioned dryly. "Funny, seeing as you're sitting here after following me across the country, and then the _world."_

"I volunteered. You didn't talk me into shit."

Rolling his eyes, he snatched her ankle and tugged hard, stretching her out before looming over her shocked form. "We both remember the past few weeks very differently," he murmured, watching her blink in surprise. He understood the disorientation; one seconds she'd been sitting up, and now she was staring at the ceiling – or, more accurately, she was staring at him – it was bound to throw anyone. "I now have you in a vulnerable position. I have the upper hand. _Convince_ me to give it to you. You've got five minutes before my back-up arrives."

Samara's dazed blinking slowed, eyes clouding with thought as she studied his steely expression. It was endearing, seeing the way her lashes hit her cheeks, but he wasn't swayed. "Oh," she whispered softly, tilting her head back to look around. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Four minutes, and forty-three seconds," Bucky sung quietly, pressing both hands into the covers beside her head. "Don't try violence. I'm warning you now, with the state of your ribs, it won't work, and even if you did manage to somehow get out from under me, you'd need to start running. You're incapable of taking multiple deep breaths, and therefore incapable of sustaining the needed pace," he listed, tapping the blankets patiently.

Her head dipped in a short nod. "I can't handle a physical confrontation," she agreed, sighing through her nose. "Okay, if I knew the situation better, I could try and convince you letting me go is the best option. Who am I, and who are you?"

Bucky smiled, pleased with the question. "I'm the Winter Soldier, elite Hydra operative," he introduced smoothly, canting his head in thought as he studied her position. "You are someone the opposition sent in, to gather intel, and you've just been identified and found out. Everyone here wants you dead – me included. If you get out, the information you have could ruin us. I can't let that happen, now can I?"

"Why?" Samara questioned instantly. "Do you have any loyalty to them, or are you just going along with the only thing you know?"

That made him pause, mouth open and posture faltering in its confidence. It wasn't what he'd thought she'd say – if he was being completely honest, he had been hoping she'd resort to something a little more _physical –_ and the sudden knowing gleam to her eyes made him want to shy away. He would've preferred the press of her body then the press of his conscience.

Bucky licked his lips, thinking on how he would've once reacted to the very same question. "I'd rather stay with something I know, then the unknown," he said quietly, staring at her chin. "You're going to try emotional manipulation then? It can be risky. Emotions are unstable."

Her form moved beneath him, a shrug breaking her stillness. "I'm cheating," she whispered, giving a tiny smile. "I know your feelings towards your old _handlers_ , and I'm using it against you. I think I can talk you into going against them, but you don't know me. You've already stated that you'd prefer something you know over something you don't, so why should I bother with this route?" Her eyes still had that coloured edge of knowing, and seeing it directed his way was nerve-wracking. "It may have something to do with that coltish look you've got going, maybe the way your muscles are quivering like you're three seconds away from bolting. It makes you uncomfortable."

Bucky's throat moved in a nervous swallow. "That _is_ cheating," he gave an awkward chuckle. "I was kinda hoping you'd go for sexual manipulation, darling. It's more fun for the both of us."

This was the; _I'm thinking really hard about something you probably won't like_ thing, wasn't it?

Samara was watching him far too closely, and the confidence he'd felt going into this waned a little more. "What happens if I push you a little more then?" she said in a hushed voice, leaning further into his space. It arched her shoulders from the mattress, chest pushing against his own, and he couldn't even find delight in it. "What if I offered you something outside of this? Ever wanted to be your own leader?"

Bucky blinked. "I honestly…" he swallowed again. "I never thought about it. Not then…" The admittance made her brow quirk up, the arch delicate and curious. "I only ever thought about how to complete the mission."

"The mission changed," Samara stated bluntly. "Do you believe me?"

His words caught in his throat. Back then, would he have believed her? His main focus would've been handing her into the others, getting his pat on the head, and then going back to the blissful silence of cryogenic storage. He wouldn't have bothered to see whether or not she was telling the truth. He had no loyalty, only impatience.

Bucky took a slow breath in, smiling weakly. "Say I believe you," he started, peering up towards the bedroom door and grinning wider. "Say I do, but by now it wouldn't matter. Times up, darling."

As though there were actual guards, she gave the door a panicked look. "Well, shit," she breathed. "So, you believe me then? Good. The intel you received was a lie, I'm not the undercover operative. _They_ are." Her chin gestured to the closed door, and then she smiled warmly. "Might need to take them down, soldier, otherwise they might call for backup of their own."

He couldn't help but laugh, leaning down to hide the smile in her neck. "Maybe I will," he chuckled. "But let's say that's something I don't believe? Let's say the guards are people I've worked with before. I've seen them kill innocents. I _know_ they're on our side. You're lying."

Samara bit her lip.

"So now I know you were lying to me all along," Bucky continued, slowly shifting to grab her wrists in both hands. The woman only watched, throat moving in a tight swallow when he pinned them beside her head. "It doesn't make me very happy, either. I did tell you that emotions were unstable, didn't I? When the manipulation fails, it really _fails._ "

Golden eyes rolled skywards. "Oh, and what if sexual manipulation fails?" she mocked. "I'll be both dead and sexually frustrated. I'd prefer to take my chances with emotions, and die from pain rather than disappointment."

Bucky leaned closer, grinning wolfishly. "I've never left someone _disappointed_."

"There's a bunch of guards trying to break down the door, remember?" Samara announced dully, pulling a face. "Keep it in your pants, gorgeous, we have a crisis on our hands – and no, the crisis is _not_ what's currently happening in your pants. Don't even try that shit on me."

 _There goes that plan_.

Bucky let out a short sound, canting his head in curiosity. There was a group of men currently bashing down the door, he had an attractive undercover agent pressed beneath him, and an apparent option of escape. But she'd already lied about who was on who's side – what if she was lying about his possible future outside of all of this? He narrowed his eyes, tightening the grip he had on her wrists. How would he have managed the situation twenty years ago?

"You know…" he started, breathing slow and deep. "I don't know if I can believe you anymore. What if there's no place for me outside of what I already know? What if I'm not going to get this future you're promising me?"

Samara bit her lip – damn, he was distracted enough as it was – letting out a low hum. "You don't want the future I'm offering?"

Bucky shook his head wildly. "No, no I _want_ it," he said loudly, shocked that truth rang in every word. "I want it, but I don't know if I can have it? How am I meant to know you'll give it to me? A lot of people make promises – especially when they're in a bad situation. You could be telling me exactly what I want to hear."

The doctor tilted her head to the side, something bright sparking in her eyes. It made him nervous, but still feed the heat growing in his lower belly and her hands tugged free from his grip. "I guess that's all on you then," she murmured, arching up and pressing a kiss to his jawline. His arms shook a little, struggling to hold up his weight when lips brushed across his own. "I can't make the decision for you, now can I? If you really want it then maybe you should take a risk?"

Bucky clenched his teeth together. "Those guards are pounding the door down," he whispered, clearing his throat.

Twin hands found him, one sneaking around his neck and the other fisting in his shirt. "You should probably do something about that," she pointed out, using her grip on his shirt to tug his body down. He hit warm flesh before he'd dropped more than a few inches. "Before they come in here and kill me."

"I deal with them later," he decided, turning his head to meet her lips.

The initial press was like water after walking the desert, and he was suddenly thankful that silver wouldn't drop his weight without his permission – his right hand already quivering with the warmth beneath him. The woman was beautifully receptive, arching up and breathing out his name, drawing out every syllable. "Buck, you, _Bucky_ …"Clever fingers inched up his stomach, dancing over his ribs and bunching up his shirt. "Get rid of this, _please_."

Bucky sat up, pulling the shirt over his head and throwing it to the side without another thought. If she wanted him shirtless, she got him shirtless – fuck, if she wanted the moon, he'd find a way to get it for her. Especially if she kept looking at him like _that._ Hurriedly, he moved to hover over her again, to press her into the mattress, but she rose to meet him with eager lips. "Sammy…"

The doctor gave a small hum, kissing her way up his neck. "What is it, gorgeous?" she purred, grinning up at him through her lashes. "I should probably tell you I don't do second thoughts – or backing out. You're stuck with me. Indefinitely."

Bucky swallowed. The confidence was new. It wasn't _unwelcomed_ per say, but it was new.

Usually, if he dared to go beyond light touches and closed lips, she turned a colour similar to the sun and stammered out the dictionary. It was adorable and he fucking loved it. But he loved this even more. The firm touch on his skin, the nails raking down his navel, it was _good._

"Your pants too…" she added, tugging once on the loose banded pyjamas. "Who even wears checkers anymore?"

Bucky let out a heavy breath, falling back slightly under her weight. "Sammy, beautiful, I'm not complaining but…" he faltered, voice thickening when familiar eyes hit him _hard_. Dark gold was nothing more than a thin band, and any argument he might've had died in his throat. "… but you're far too clothed."

Samara's grin was the epitome of sly, nothing more than lightest upwards curve. "Oh, is that so?" she giggled, tipping her head back and watching him down the length of her nose. It was a similar feeling to being studied, and he felt like she'd already stripped him bare even though she'd only taken his shirt. "Do something about it then, hm? My hands are busy."

Deft fingers snuck past his waistband. "Busy alright," he gasped out. "Can't take the shift off if you don't lift your arms, beautiful."

"I'm happy where my hands are," she muttered stubbornly, pushing him back until he hit the mattress. The doctor loomed over him, and idly he noted warmth, the woman settling slim thighs over the clinch of his waist. "Now, _darling_ , I have the upper hand. I have you in a vulnerable position."

Bucky tensed. "You _tricked_ me."

Samara threw her head back into a laugh, coy smile in place. "Sexual manipulation," she corrected, grinding her hips down and chuckling again when he arched up. "Come now, you did say it would be fun, didn't you? Didn't you have fun? I had fun."

"I'm not killing those guards now," Bucky pouted, licking his teeth. "They're your problem."

Samara rolled her eyes, swinging her legs over him and bouncing from the mattress. "Yeah, yeah, I win, go suck a dick," she cackled, stretching her hands over her head and rolling out her shoulders. Gold peered over at him, amused and victorious. "You're not upset, are you? You started the game, honey, least you can do is accept defeat graciously. Don't be a sore loser."

Bucky growled, pushing up onto his elbows and glaring across the room. "I'm not being a sore loser," he murmured, watching the woman shake out her hair and snatch up the remote again. "I'm… what was the word you used? _Frustrated."_

The doctor blinked at him. "That's not my problem," she snorted. "What movie do you wanna watch?"

"The video of your death is sounding pretty good right about now."

Samara tipped her head back with a sigh. "You _are_ upset then," she realised. "You asked me to convince you, I convinced you. What else do you want from me? Shouldn't you be proud I passed the third lesson?"

"Want the fourth?" Bucky offered. "It's a hard one."

The woman managed a snorting laugh, covering her lips in horror. "Was that – are you making – was that a joke?" she spluttered, giggling into her hand but still managing to look affronted. "Did you make a dick joke? _It's a hard one._ Oh wow, holy shit, you're a sad man. I almost feel bad for you. You have no game, nothing, zilch, zip. How did you manage to get me?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I wasn't making a joke. I mean it – lesson four, are you in or not? It's a _difficult_ one."

Samara wiped her eyes dramatically. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Lesson four," she waved a hand, pursing her lips at the remote control again. "Hit me."

"Assassin lesson number four," Bucky started loudly, pushing to his feet and fixing clothing. "Survival. The situation is – you managed to annoy your homicidal boyfriend and now he's about to try and murder you. I suggest retreat, because said homicidal boyfriend now knows all your tricks and won't fall for shit. If you can survive an hour, you've passed the lesson. Go!"

Samara chuckled. "Sounds fun and – " Turning, she noticed his glare. "Wait? Did you say _homicidal?"_

* * *

Tony rubbed at his eyes, exhaustion seemingly making them burn. How was he _still_ tired? He'd downed enough caffeine to kill a small child – much to the good captain's irritation – it was a wonder he wasn't climbing the walls or shaking from the overdose.

Beside him, a yawn split faint pink lips. " – and uh," Steve shook his head, blinking hard when tears hit. "We need to tell someone about Buck…"

"No, we do not," Natasha correct primly, wide awake and happily thumbing through some documents. How was she _not_ tired? The glass beside her hand was filled with orange juice for fucks sake. "It's probably best we kept that under wraps until he's back at his place. Washington will be safer for him, and no one is going to go knocking on doors to find him. If they want him, they'll look here."

Lazily, brown eyes moved to the blond, waiting for an argument. Steve didn't disappoint. "But the longer we keep it _under wraps_ , the more annoyed they'll be. If we tell them the truth now, it'll lessen the blow, might help them trust us more," he tried, exhausted but still eager like a child.

Tony was already shaking his head. "The government doesn't trust anybody, not even themselves. They're the _government."_

Steve bit his lip. "Maybe," he allowed, giving the tired man a consoling smile. "But we need them on our side with this. What about Fury? Nat, have you heard anything since he went quiet?"

"Quiet means you _don't_ hear anything," Tony snorted drowsily.

Natasha hummed lightly, already going to show something from her phone - why wasn't that his tech, the little traitor – and pretending the billionaire didn't exist. "He's settled. He'll help if we need him, but for now he's happy people think he's dead. I'd rather not bring him in unless we had too," she winced apologetically, wrinkling her nose. "Even if we wanted his help, I don't know how we're meant to get a hold of him. The phone he texted me from is a disposable, and he doesn't exactly own a house anymore."

Tony went to make a smart comment – how did the red head know he had a house, had she gone over for tea? – when he swore he heard something bang behind him. Peering over his shoulder, he narrowed his eyes. "Anybody seeing this or have I finally gone insane?"

Steve must've missed his murmur, because he and the red headed woman kept discussing their next move.

The shirtless assassin man… _angry_ shirtless assassin man must've missed it too, because he kept walking past the doorway. He didn't stop, only peered in as his feet carried him past the open doorway.

Tony really needed a drink.

As he wiped his eyes – it worked to erase exhaustion, maybe it would work on hallucinations too? – a familiar dark haired woman crept into the room, one finger held against her lips in a plea for silence. The genius mimicked the action and nodded, wondering what the woman was hiding from and why. If she was in trouble, someone should know right, and you only hid when you were in trouble or during a world championship game of hide and seek.

Tony was in the world championship, and he happened to know the game wasn't for another few months. If she wasn't in the game, then she was in trouble. If she was in trouble, then someone should know about it – preferably her angry shirtless assassin man friend.

Yawning into his hand, he stumbled away from the table, looking down the hallway. "Barnes?"

A dark head popped out of the stairwell. "Stark? What's wrong? You're looking more shitty than usual?" Bucky asked, jogging up to the staggering billionaire with a small smile. It didn't last long. "Whoa, wow, are you okay? You look dead."

Tony waved a hand for silence. "No, hush, I think…" he swallowed, smothering another yawn. "I think 'mara is in trouble"

Bucky suddenly looked more interested. "Samara? You think she's in trouble?"

The genius nodded wildly, holding a finger to his lips and then waving at the man to follow him. He led them both back into the living room, stumbling a little to the side and then looking to where he'd last seen the woman. "Oh no, she's gone!" he squeaked. "Whelp, she will be sorely missed. Who wants pizza?"

Bucky was smiling again, one brow lifted high on his forehead. That must've been where the damn captain learnt it from then. "Steve, I think your boyfriend needs some help," he chorused loudly, getting the blond's attention with the teasing tone. "Mental help. Seriously. Take him to see someone."

Steve grumbled. "He's not my boyfriend."

"What?" Tony asked, scandalised. "I so am."

"You so aren't."

"Am."

"Aren't."

"Oh yeah? Then why did we totally make out last ni – "

Slim fingers slammed over thin lips, the blond looking sheepishly awkward. "Uh, yeah, um…" Steve cleared his throat, checking how the others reacted. Neither really seemed to give a shit. "Buck, is something up? Where's your better half? Where's Samara?"

Tony tugged down on the hand covering his mouth, strength only lasting long enough to get out; "Where's your shirt?"

Bucky looked between them both, hands shoved in the pockets of his pyjama pants. "I was hoping you could tell me," he countered, shrugging lazily and scoping out the room. "Ultimate game of hide and seek – only she seems to think the rules don't apply. Every time I turn my back she changes hiding places. That's cheating, right? Tony, wanna help me out? Cheating in hide and seek is a crime."

Tony nodded sagely. "Yes, it is," he agreed. _"Natty-boo_ , did you see where she went?"

"I'll tell you if you promise to never call me that again," the red head muttered, looking up long enough to catch the nod. "It's a deal then. Living room."

Bucky's smile looked predatory – not that he could be blamed, winning hide and seek was _legendary_. "You guys rock, I'll make you pancakes tomorrow," he promised, keeping his hands in his pockets and steps light as he wandered towards the archway. He was even whistling, so adorable.

Tony gave a dazed smile. "He's so happy," he cooed, slapping the firmer body beside his own. Liking the sound – it was like slapping concrete or something – he did it again, and watched to see if the muscle moved beneath the hit. It didn't. "I like doing nice things for people, they always smile or cry or something. Bucky didn't _cry_ but you know, I think his eyes glistened. Actually, can he cry? Is that something he can even do?"

The man walked back through the archway, the slight doctor slung over his shoulder. "Nope," he shrugged, sending the woman up and earning a shriek. "I lost my tear ducts in the war. Thanks again for the help, guys."

"Fucking traitors, the lot of you," Samara grumbled.

Tony waved, not quite managing to hear the woman. "You're welcome!" he called, turning to sigh happily at the reddening blond. "I like those two. We should strive to be like them, I mean, relationship goals am I right?"

* * *

 **Just so ya'll know, there will be eventual smut. I've been talked into it, help me, smut is hard to write and I die a little every time I write bad words. Kidding, I'm pretty sure my only purpose on this planet is to swear and write sarcastic fanfiction.**

 **I hope you liked the latest update, and know I love you all to pieces.**

 **Taila xx**


	3. Adventure III

Ripping the plastic tag away from warm material, he pointedly avoided the price, passing it over to the woman beside him. "You know, uh, you didn't have to buy me so much," he mumbled, leaning back on his haunches. "I could've done with only a couple shirts and some pants."

Samara beamed, and it was the same smile that had convinced him to let her spoil him. "I'm too lazy to do washing often, so no, you can't do with only _a couple shirts and some pants,"_ she explained, folding the shirt neatly and stacking it at her side. "You know, I really like these. You may be old as shit, but as least you have style, even if your haircut was frozen somewhere in the nineties."

Bucky made a disagreeing sound. The darkly coloured shirt in her hand – a _henley_ or something? – seemed awfully plain to him, with only a few buttons and longer sleeves, but every person who'd served them had gushed over it. It was branded, which meant it was important, which made him _hip._

Great. He was now a deadly, renowned, _fabulous_ assassin.

"Besides," Samara continued, biting her lower lip. "I wanted to do something nice for you. I know it's not really a _nice_ thing to do, since you needed these things anyway, but I guess it's the thought that counts? I don't know…" she sighed, reaching around him to grab another bag.

Bucky managed a short frown. "You didn't have to do anything for me," he soothed, clasping one slim hand in his own and squeezing. "You're enough."

Golden eyes warmed slightly, but the woman still let out a quiet sound, lifting his hand to brush a kiss over his knuckles. "Maybe I didn't have too," Samara allowed, shrugging to show she was only humouring him. "But I _wanted_ too, so shut up and help me unpack this crap. You owe me and – and I know that look, bloody hell, now you think you actually owe me something," she groaned, head tipping back.

"You've done so much for me," Bucky grumbled. "I've barely done anything in return."

Samara sighed, shaking her head. "You don't owe me anything, and in relationships, you don't have debts. In a relationship, which you know, we're in, you have things called _brownie points_. All you gotta do is surprise me with something cute, like roses or a nice date, and boom, brownie points."

Bucky rolled his eyes, leaning more comfortably back against the bed. "It sounds a little too easy," he murmured, watching her through narrowed blue orbs. "If it's too easy that means there's a catch. You're keeping something from me, aren't you?"

"There's no catch," Samara snorted. "Do something nice, and you get points – those points however are key to your survival."

"And I found the catch."

Samara whacked his shoulder. "It's not that bad, you big baby," she defended, poking out her tongue when he gave a contradicting look. "You know what I mean. If you buy me roses every once in a while, maybe take me out to the movies - when you fuck up, I won't be so mad. For example, you've forgotten our anniversary, and while I'm sitting here planning your murder, I look down and see that very expensive charm bracelet you brought me. It reminds me how much I love you, and you make it through the night. Everybody wins."

"Brownie points buy me time?" Bucky felt his eyebrow climb up towards his hairline, curiosity managing to twist his lips. "I need to start stockpiling them then," he admitted, pressing forward to kiss pouting lips. "You know how bad my memory can be, darling."

The pout dissipated into a smile, and the woman moved to hug him tightly. "If you want to get a head start, I have something for you to do," she whispered in his ear, breath tickling his neck. "I made some reservations at this little restaurant tonight, nothing too fancy – will you come with me? I promise it won't be crowded, and you don't have to wear a tie."

Bucky gave an obedient chuckle, swallowing down the instant refusal when it built on his tongue. Public situations weren't something he looked forward too, and the shopping mall had been more than enough for one day, but… but saying _no_ to those eyes wasn't something he was capable of doing just yet. "It sounds great," he murmured, smoothing a hand down her back. "What's the occasion then? We've only been home a week, you can't be sick of cooking already?"

Samara pulled back, hands on his shoulders, and made a face.

"What?" the assassin defended, brow coming down when she only continued to stare. "What did I say?"

The doctor cocked up a brow. _"What's the occasion?"_ she mimicked, nodding slowly to spurn him into remembering. If there was something he was meant to know, he didn't know it. "Oh god, come on, are you serious? How are you drawing a blank right now? You know what day it is right?"

Bucky blinked slowly, staring at the ground like it held all the answers. "March tenth?" he offered tentatively. "Right? Darling, if I've forgotten something already, I'm sorry. Give me twenty minutes and I'll get you flowers – five, if you don't mind me tearing through your garden."

Samara wrinkled her nose, patting down the less than tame bangs framing his face. "It wasn't important," she shrugged, smile genuine. "Can you get the rest of the tags and fold all this? I need to clear out some drawer and cupboard space for your ass." The sudden lack of warmth in his arms made him frown, leaning back to watch her wander towards the other side of the room. "You have no idea how much I'm giving up for you boy."

The words made him wince, eyes dropping to take in the untouched bags. He had a rough idea.

* * *

The shirt scratched a little, feeling rough against the vulnerable skin of his neck, and he barely stopped his fingers from tearing open the buttons. It was nothing more than material, sewn together and made to fit – _he knew that, he did_ – but it felt too restricting. It felt like he couldn't breathe, even when he was, like he couldn't pull away and – the button finally popped open, rewarding him with a few more inches of space but it still wasn't enough.

Heels clicked on the hardwood flooring, muted when they hit the carpet. "You okay there?"

Bucky grunted, pulling the shirt as far as he could without tearing it. "The damn thing is as tight as – " Peering up when warm fingers brushed against his neck, the words caught somewhere in his throat, lost to the whirlwind in his head. " _My god_."

The smile he was hit with was shy, pale cheeks tinged a pleasant shade of pink. "Does that mean you like it?" Samara asked, smoothing her free hand down the length of her stomach. His own fingers itched to follow the same track. "I've never really had reason to wear it, and I figured you wouldn't mind if we matched tonight," she shrugged, bending the material of his collar.

Breath returned to his lungs only to escape again, disappearing somewhere in the air around them as he took his companion in with a pleased expression. "I don't remember seeing you buy that," he rumbled, hand floating down to crush the softer material between his fingertips.

The dark green shade was almost the perfect match for his shirt, like she'd said, but the woman wore the colour better than he ever could.

Samara bit her lip, tugging on the small triangle cut into the neck line. "You don't think it's too much?" she asked, continuing to play with the material like she could change it into something new. "I bought it years ago, on a whim, because I thought that – " Pink cheeks darkened all the more. "I thought that I'd need it one day, you know? A gorgeous dress to wear for a gorgeous someone."

Bucky grinned. "You cheesy little shit, you," he scolded lightly, stepping back and pointedly looking the knee length dress over. "It's not too much, it's absolutely perfect. Neckline is a little low, but from what I've seen, that is all the rage now. You won't get cold?"

Running her hands over bare shoulders, the woman shook her head. "I have a cardigan," she promised.

Bucky nodded, pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck – she had dark red lips, and he knew he'd get in trouble for messing with the colour – before he looked to the clock. "Are we gonna leave now? You said six, right?" he wondered, trying to mentally prepare for the next few hours while he still had the time. It was better than going out into another mall, he figured, but a restaurant was more personal, more intimate with low lighting and hushed conversation.

He spared silver fingers a curious glance. If he wanted too, he could slip leather over the metal. If he wanted too, he could easily hide the flash of colour from prying eyes and melt into the crowd like everyone else.

Lips teased the clean-shaven plane of his cheek, nothing more than a fleeting second of contact. "Yeah, we probably should. Did you wanna drive?" Samara questioned, running a lacquered finger over her mouth. It was a careful action, like she was making sure the makeup was still there. "You've been getting better with the road rules and all, plus it's only a short drive to the restaurant once we leave the suburbs."

He wondered if the colour was now pressed against his cheek? Bright red like a burn and possessive as all hell.

Bucky gave a limp shrug, shoving both hands into the pockets of his dress pants. "The drive might be short, but it's not like I know the way," he pointed out, gesturing to the keys for their beloved vehicle. He never should've asked the billionaire for the damned thing – the woman was starting to love it more than she loved him. "Besides, I know how much you love that stupid thing."

Gold lit up yet again, holding the new weight in her hands. "Stupid thing? You mean _you?"_ she taunted, tugging lightly on his arm in a bid for attention. He gave it without complaint. "Hey broody, you okay?"

Bucky nodded, confused. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Oh, wow, don't sound so honest next time."

Snatching up bare arms, he spun the woman to face him, offering a cocked brow. "Sammy, really, I'm fine," he promised, punctuating each word with a kiss. He didn't care much for _where_ said kisses went – be it her hair, her brow or her lips. "But I'm starving, can we go eat now? It's almost six."

Samara grimaced when she saw the clock, hurrying to grab her purse and cardigan. "You're right, shit, we don't want to be late," she hissed, throwing the material around her shoulders before empty fingers grabbed him next. "Come on, it's adventure time! You ever eaten a steak that costs more than a house? Drunk wine the price of a year's wage? It's fun, you should try it."

Bucky laughed as he was led from the house, skipping down the steps that put him beside the gleaming paint. "Your saying my dinner is going to cost as much as the car?" he questioned. "Is it going to be as ugly too?"

"Insult the Lamborghini and you'll never eat again."

Bucky ran a hand over the hood. "It's damned gorgeous, I've said that right?" he cooed, clicking his tongue. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen, bar you of course, my stunning lover. Have I told you how _edible_ you look tonight?"

Samara snorted. "Nice try amigo," she called, already dropping her weight into the leather. "Nice try, but nope. There ain't enough brownie points in the _world_ to save your ass if you insult the car again – or if you like, destroy my coffee maker or something? Look, the real key to your survival is actually caffeine and motor oil from here on out. Keep me stocked."

Resting his hand on her thigh, he grinned wolfishly. "Whatever she wants," he purred.

The woman shifted her weight, eyes flicking down to take in the flash of skin, before her throat moved in a quick swallow. It was enough to coax another rumbling laugh out of him, and he got a glare for the sound, the doctor now throwing the car into reverse and starting them on their way.

It was about now that he realised he still wasn't quite sure what day it was yet. He knew it was _important_ – important enough she was dressed rather delectably and taking him out for a real meal – but he didn't know _who_ it was important too. It could've been the day he died for all he knew, or it could've been the day she graduated university. It could be a day that matters only to _them,_ or it could be a day that matters to everybody but them. He didn't _know._

There was the temptation to ask, of course, but he didn't want to irritate her by admitting he hadn't figured it out yet. Samara had seemed amused when he'd confessed to drawing a blank, but his antics wouldn't stay funny for long. Eventually she was going to get sick of the holes in his memory, of the way he studied everything, of the way he tensed in surprise when the phone rang.

Eventually, she'd get sick of him.

Bucky gently took back his hand, using it to ruffle through his bangs. It was bound to happen eventually – she'd accepted everything she knew about him so far, he'd give her that, but one day there was bound to be something that crossed the line. Maybe it wasn't something he'd done, but something he'd _do._

"Hey, earth to deadly assassin? Hello in there?" Her voice rolled over him, fingers following not long after and filling up his field of vision. He turned his head to acknowledge her, taking in the edgy smile and the awkward way she reached out for him. "Where did you go? You left me for a minute there."

Bucky looked past her, taking in the lights and playing dumb. "We're here then?"

Samara watched him, eyes alight in a way that made his spine itch. "Yeah, yeah, we're here," she murmured, hesitating with her hand on the door. "Bucky, did you still want to do this? It's okay to say no to me, you know?"

He wanted to back out, but one look at the downcast eyes made him shake his head. He could manage this much if it made her happy. "If you make me wait any longer for food, I won't be held accountable for what happens," he teased, shaking away the dark cloud from before. There were later hours to dwell on the future, hours where the woman was snoring beside him and unable to read his thoughts through his eyes.

The doctor stared again, like she was looking for something, but whatever she found only brought forward a snort. "You're in love, aren't you? Not with me, but with rump steak and curly fries, I swear," she grumbled, finding her footing on the smooth pavement.

Bucky followed her example, fixing the creases in his shirt awkwardly as a young man came to take the keys. "What's he doing?"

Samara spared him a look. "Parking the car, gorgeous, he's a valet," she murmured, holding out her hand patiently. "He keeps the keys, and when we want to leave he drives the car to the front for us. Customer service is better now than it was in the forties."

Tucking her hand around his elbow – he remembered that much – Bucky opened his lips in understanding. "That it is," he allowed, smiling down at her with teeth glinting in the low light. "I was just wondering… you said this place was nothing too fancy, didn't you? I'm not that well versed in the culture now, I'll admit, but burger king doesn't park our car for us. I'm gonna guess this is a little higher end?"

"You caught me," Samara drawled, every step causing the length of her dress to brush his leg. "This place might be a little bit more – wait, I'll be damned, look over there. There's that actor you like so damned much. Stan or something, right?"

Bucky's eyes widened, head spinning to find said actor in the crowd. "You said nothing too fancy," he protested weakly.

The doctor winked, biting her lip to supress a too wide smile. "Did you want his autograph? It's not hard, stroll up and make a meme joke," she teased, slowing as a man bowed with menu in hand. His appearance seemed to sober her up, and the smile turned sickeningly polite. "Oh, good evening, I'm here under the reservation _winter wonderland?_ It was at six? _"_

The waiter straightened and smiled. "Ah yes, follow me, please," he requested, turning sharply on his heel and leading them further into the murmuring restaurant. There were glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, only brightening the room a small degree while candles dealt with the rest using flickering flames. It was almost irritating to see he'd been right in thinking the atmosphere would be intimate.

Bucky pressed a kiss to her hair, hoping he didn't muck up the elaborate braid. "Winter wonderland?"

They were led past the tables and out the back, a staircase greeting them. "Whoops?" Samara grinned, lacing their fingers together as they climbed the polished wood. Every step taken was echoed by a sharp click of heels. "Don't give me that look. I couldn't resist and I refuse to apologize."

Another kiss, and his first genuine smile since leaving the house. "You should learn to swallow your pride, darling."

"What is it with men and swallowing?"

The waiter announced their location with a flourish, adding on another bow and a dramatic sweep with his arm. "I will be in momentarily to take your orders," he promised in a smooth voice. "If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to call me."

Bucky watched the man leave, brows high before he followed the insistent tugging on his arm, the woman demanding he obey without words. It was an edge he was used too. "I'm coming, hell," he growled, snaking silver around her waist and stealing another kiss. The scandalised sound that echoed was masculine, instead of feminine, and slowly he lifted his eyes, taking in the room and all of its occupants.

Tony was covering his eyes. "Are they done? Is it over? Am I safe?"

Bucky released the woman, taking a pointed step to the side but not leaving her space. "I thought…" he blinked, taking in the smiling faces before looking to his doctor. "I thought you said it was going to be… just us?"

Across the room, the genius uncovered his eyes only so they could see him roll the brown orbs skywards. "Oh please, like we'd miss this," Tony drawled, saluting them all with an almost empty glass. "I mean, it's a special day for you, buddy ol' pal. It's a celebration. An occasion I'm only part of because a certain captain threatened certain parts of my anatomy if I missed it."

"A celebration?" Bucky wondered slowly. "For me?"

Samara was looking decidedly guilty beside him. "He doesn't know," she murmured, staring at the ground and then at the others. It was a good way to avoid his glare, he'd give her that much. "I didn't know how to break it to him."

Bucky practically _felt_ the blood drain from his face with the words. Break what to him? What the hell were they all gathered here to _celebrate?_ He shifted his weight from foot to foot, swallowing down the automatic desire to retreat. If they were all smiling it wasn't like they were gathered here to kill him. Steve had the decency to at least frown when murder was incoming.

"Didn't know how to break what to me?" Bucky asked, turning to face the woman. Feigning calm, he slipped both hands into his pockets. "Samara?"

It was the billionaire who answered him, lumbering forward and clasping both of his shoulders in calloused hands. Wait, _where the hell had he put his drink?_ Tony closed his eyes dramatically. "Bucky, I don't know how to tell you this but…" he sighed, shaking his head sadly, almost like he was announcing happiness was dead. "You're old as fuck. Happy birthday."

 _Happy what?_

Bucky blinked. "Huh?" he managed, barely able to stop from starting back when something exploded near his face. The team was laughing loudly, batting at each other as more booming claps sounded and coloured paper went flying. "What the…"

Warmth bloomed along his side, and gold looked up in apology. "Steve wanted to do something," his doctor whispered, a blue string of confetti dangling from her shoulder while another danced up her neck. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I figured you should be christened into the new generation with a good ol' surprise birthday party. You haven't lived if you've never had one."

Bucky licked his lips, circling both hands around her shoulders and tucking her head under his chin. "Damn punk knows I hate surprises," he breathed, carefully cooling down after the initial shock. The woman helped to calm his heart. "But I appreciate the thought, beautiful, I really do. Can't believe I forgot my own damn birthday."

"You want a party popper?" Samara questioned, pulling back before something plastic was thrust into his hand. "They're fun, go on."

Taking the coloured plastic, he quirked up a brow. "It makes a tiny explosion," Bucky noted, watching the others to learn how it worked. "You don't give these to your kids or anything, do you?" he wondered, pulling hard on the string and getting yet another surprise. "Son of a bitch, what the fuck was that?"

"Hey, birthday or not, _language,"_ Steve came up, clapping his shoulder and giving him a one-armed hug. "Also, its confetti," he panted, grinning boyishly. "Check this out. I don't know what it is, but it's awesome. Tony brought them."

Bucky eyed the thrust out can nervously, accepting it only when the blond pushed it into his hand before escaping back to the others. It had some animated kids decorating the front, and they seemed to be aiming the can at one another, smiles wild and clothes dirty in a way only children could ever manage. It was safe then, maybe even another toy? Humming, he turned and lifted it to eye height, barely pausing before pressing a finger down and releasing –

"Silly string? What the hell, Buck?" Samara choked, swiping away the pink foamy strings. It looked like she was fighting an unseen attacker, hands perfectly flat and form almost perfect as she batted the colour away. "We're in a fucking five-star restaurant, who the hell brought silly string?"

Tony piped up from across the room. _"Guilty!"_

Bucky felt the laugh bubble up before he could stop it, taking in flashing golden eyes hidden beneath strings of pink. "Darling, that colour really suits you," he purred, leaning forward to give her a placating kiss. It managed to kill some anger, her cheeks still a stunning shade of red but her eyes finally calm. "Come now, don't pout. It's revenge for the surprise party, and it's perfectly justified."

The can was snatched from his hand. "The server is going to be back any minute," she mumbled, taking in the chaos and ignoring his very _true_ words. "If he sees this we'll probably be kicked out on our asses."

"Oh, loosen up princess," Tony grinned, popping up beside the woman and leaning against her carelessly. There was a stumble from heeled feet before she found her footing again, holding up the billionaire's weight with a glare. "I've never been kicked out of a restaurant in my life. You'll find that money gets you a lot in the world – be it silly string or tolerance."

Samara lifted her hand and sprayed the last of the can into the man's face.

Tony didn't even seem chastised. "Okay, we'll read the menus then," he allowed, lips nothing more than a black hole through the pink foam. "Alright guys, we better sit down. If you don't cooperate, the dreaded doctor here will literally unload an entire can of whoop ass all over your face and – and good god, what is this, it tastes like someone left the milk out."

People found their seats in record time after that, watching the genius struggle to wipe pink from his lips. Bucky, personally, was far too pleased watching the spectacle. There was something about the way pink stained the thousand-dollar dress shirt, something almost _poetic_. It wasn't until he looked down, opening the menu, that the pleased warmth faded into confusion.

 _What the hell is this?_

Samara managed to sense his doubt without needing words. "Did you want the steak? They're famous for it, it's why we're here rather than that meatball place. Italian has nothing on prime rib," she smiled softly from beside him, one hand fixing any errant curls.

Bucky took in the impressive meals, features twisted. "You think?"

"I do," she promised, smoothing a hand over his arm before frowning at her own menu. "I might get the chicken…"

Natasha made a sound across from them, pale eyes glued to something on the paper. "I'm not gonna eat anything until dessert," she decided with a groan, pointing uselessly at the page. "I'm not the only one who likes the sound of that cheesecake, am I?"

It took less than a second for the doctor to moan. "Oh hey, uh guys, do diets count on special occasions? I'm asking for a friend."

"Your diet never counts," Bucky muttered.

Samara sent him a betrayed look. "Oh please, like your waistline is anything _impressive_ ," she managed, faltering only a few beats later and giving him a sideways look. "Actually no, I take that back, I know how impressive your waist is. Got that hourglass figure, am I right?"

Tony muttered something suspiciously – probably something about _not needing to know_ – before he piped up; "None of you are eating that cheesecake, because I had a cake made especially for today. Before you ask, no I didn't fly it in from another country or something like that, I actually made it," he announced proudly, throwing the menu down and stretching. "Well, I made the first one."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but…" Bucky felt his brow climb. "First one?"

Brown eyes twitched. "Yeah, wanna know something I learnt today?" Tony questioned, looking around the table. "You can't fit ninety or so candles on one fucking cake. The damn thing looked like someone had taken a machine gun to it. Poor cake, may you rest in peace."

Samara's amusement was written only in her eyes, her lips perfectly set. "You made the first one, but what about the second one?"

"The second one? Yeah, it's from this guy I like, some baker dude," Tony waved a hand dismissively. "French, but his chocolate ganache is heavenly, so I figured why not pay a little extra for postage, you know? I own a private plane anyway and the guy's television show doesn't start til next week. He had the time."

Bucky tilted his head, giving his doctor a stunned look. _"He had the time,"_ he whispered, grinning when she hid her own smile behind painted nails.

When the waiter came to take their orders, he looked over the mess and didn't even _blink._ It wasn't until a few minutes later, when he called the genius by his first name, that the room realised it wasn't the first time the poor guy had walked in on such chaos. He was probably surprised there was less booze and more confetti lying about, in all honesty, and woman who were clothed rather than butt naked.

Bucky leant against his chair almost thirty minutes later, drink in hand and one arm slung around his doctor as he appraised the room. Everybody was laughing, grinning, sharing stories that sounded fake as hell and then calling each other out on their bullshit. It was brilliant, and _he_ was a part of it.

Samara wasn't surprised when he kissed her cheek, used to the affection, but she still eyed him. "What was that for, soldier?"

"Thank you," Bucky answered without pause, tapping her chin once. "Really."

Gold took him in happily, lashes brushing against her cheek with every lazy blink. "You're very welcome," she allowed, grabbing his fingers and kissing them lightly, almost as though it was second nature. "I got you something too, but it's at home so you'll have to wait. If you're not too tired after this freak show, maybe we could watch a movie too? I got that popcorn you love, and I want some one-on-one time. Just you and me, yeah?"

Bucky hummed. "Thank you _very_ much," he declared again. "Best birthday ever."

It was then, seconds before he could claim her lips properly, that the startled squawk came from across the room. Plates were gently placed onto the table, but the genius wasn't haven't any of it. "Goddamn it, I ordered a steak not the whole fucking cow!"

* * *

He hit the couch hard, bouncing lightly on the cushions.

Never again.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy it – the night was possibly the most fun he'd had in years – but he was _exhausted_ from it all. It felt like, between the food sitting happily in his stomach and the constant remarks keeping him on his toes, he'd fought in another world war rather than through a three-course meal.

Bucky rolled over when the footsteps sounded, revealing the woman was back from their shared room, no doubt with birthday present in tow. He personally didn't see the point of a gift – he would've been perfectly happy with _her_ playing the part of his prize – but she seemed nervously excited about the whole thing, either because the gift had meaning, or because it was something personal.

Either way, he'd love it.

Samara dropped her weight onto his legs, knowingly avoiding his very full stomach. "How are we feeling over here then?" she taunted, one hand snaking under his shirt and spreading out over the skin of his navel. "Tired, hmm?"

"I'm bloody exhausted," Bucky replied honestly, cracking open an eye. "What have you got there?"

Samara bit her lip and straightened up, waiting for him to do the same before thrusting the gift his way. "Here, I hope you like it as much as you liked that damned chocolate cake," she mumbled, awkwardly shifting when his legs remained under her person.

Bucky let her place what looked like a bowl in his hands, eyes interested and roaming over the design. It didn't _look_ like a bowl, it _was_ a bowl? He turned it over in his hands, studying it, noting how it almost looked to be made from scrap metal of varying shades of silver. It was distinctively charming, something she probably needed help making, but it was what it held that piqued his curiosity the most.

The key chain and wallet seemed oddly innocent as he scooped them up. "It's the key to the house, and uh, to the cars," Samara explained softly, not willing to break the mood with loud words. The wallet did that for them however, snapping open under his hands with a loud crack, and letting gleaming cards greet him like old friends. "Tony had to help me with those. It wasn't too much trouble, but it's hard to get identification for a man who apparently died in world war two, you know? It was almost like we needed to make you a new life."

He recognized the bowl now – an artistic rendering of the wooden one she kept to hold her own effects. It wasn't smooth oak like the one currently sitting by the door, but it was smooth silver and if anything, it suited him better. It was something to toss his keys in when he got home, something to hold his wallet so he'd never lose the card that brandished his real name rather than some fake identity. "Sammy…"

"You like it?"

Bucky turned, taking in the gold eyes glued to his hands. He'd been right for the second time that night, right in assuming his gift would have meaning – everything the woman did had meaning, nothing was ever pointless. "I do, yeah," he promised, happy he could meld their lips together without her reprimand. "I like it very much. Thank you again."

Samara chased his lips when he pulled away, blushing when she realised what she'd done. "You, uh, no comment on the ninja key chain then?"

Bucky frowned, eyes snapping down. He hadn't bloody noticed that.

Warmth pressed against his clean-shaven cheek – with how fast his facial hair seemed to grow, he was surprised he didn't have a beard already – and the woman was next, shifting to lounge against his side. "I'm glad you like it, Buck," she murmured, a yawn splitting the words. "Anyway, bed or movie? _Fatal Attraction_ is on and I have to see you watch that movie."

Bucky looked to the woman, taking in the sleepy golden eyes and soft lips. "Movie sounds good, I understand that whole attraction is fatal thing," he allowed, gently placing the bowl on the table. "But I demand we change. This shirt is killing me."

"Oh dude, pyjama party."

"Precisely."

Less than an hour later, clad in sweats and almost passed out while using a full chest as his pillow, he heard a soft murmur of; _"happy birthday,"_ sound from above him. For the first time in longer than he cared to admit, he let the word _happy_ apply to how he felt and smiled against a familiar red shirt. It suited the woman better than it would ever suit him anyway.

* * *

 **Happy 100** **th** **Birthday Bucky Barnes!**

 **I had to do something, you know I did, and what better** _ **something**_ **than a quippy one-shot? I hope you've all celebrated this glorious day somehow, I personally, ate an entire chocolate cake – diet, smiet, fight me – and did nothing but write this all day. It was glorious.**

 **Taila xx  
P.S **_**Fatal Attraction**_ **has Hank Pym in it technically – I shouldn't find it as funny as I do.**


	4. Adventure IV

Life was settling.

Samara almost frowned at the thought, mentally backtracking, because maybe – maybe _settled_ wasn't the right term? It was too farfetched even now to think the word. There was chaos without order, hell without heaven, pain without gain, but there was nothing settled.

It wasn't that she disagreed with his… _avenging_ , or whatever… but she didn't exactly like it some days. Some days, when she came home to an empty house and a note on the table, she wanted to punch something. Some days, when she'd gone out to buy his favourite foods and scourged around for a movie he'd like, she was pissed to find the plans made moot.

Some days she really hated being alone.

Not that she'd complain though. Bucky was happy to be helping the world rather than hindering it, and that was enough for her to shut the hell up. If he was happy, she was happy – cold nights or not.

Samara dropped onto the bed, bouncing lightly on the mattress. "Okay, so who wants to watch a romantic comedy with me?" she asked, almost hoping another random assassin had broken into her house. If they had, she'd have someone to watch sad movies with her while she cried and ate every ice cream pint in existence. "Anybody? Going once, going twice and – "

" _I would like to watch a romantic comedy with you, Doctor."_

The short scream was high pitched enough her neighbour's dog started barking. "Jarvis, you bastard, don't do that," she grunted, one hand pressed to her chest and her heart pounding wildly. "Why the hell are you active?"

Jarvis hesitated for a few seconds. _"My current protocol is to activate whenever there is a threat, Doctor,"_ he reminded her slowly. _"When Mr. Stark installed me into your home, it was as a backup plan, a last measure of protection. If there was ever an incident while they were out on a mission, I was too care for you until help arrived."_

Samara rolled her eyes. "I know your bloody protocol," she grumbled. "I had to listen to Tony rave and rant about it while he installed you – and yes, I'm still pissed about it. This is my damn house, I don't need his stupid technology safe guarding it, you hear? And, offence meant."

" _Consider the offence taken."_

The doctor growled, pushing up and stalking towards her wardrobe. "Good," she muttered, shrugging silk from her shoulders and grabbing the warmest shirt she could find. It was obviously a mistake she'd happened to grab one of her boyfriend's shirts. "Now deactivate, and go annoy someone else."

Jarvis hesitated for the second time that evening, and with the silence she felt her heart slip. _"I cannot do that, Doctor, my protocol will not allow it. I am to remain with you until told otherwise, or until help arrives,"_ he listed again, the words mechanical even coming from the intelligence.

Samara blinked. "Until help arrives… for who?" she whispered, turning slowly. There were no cameras – she drew the line with the billionaire on some things – but she faced the centre of the room as though someone was standing behind her, as though the artificial man had a body. "Jarvis, you're gonna stay with me until help arrives for who?"

" _I must insist you refrain from panicking, Doctor."_

Her hands started shaking, the smallest tremble travelling up her arms and settling on her lower lip. The urge to cry hit her hard, blurring her vision and starting up the slow thump of her heart. "Jay, if you don't tell me something, I swear to god, I will _drive_ to that damn tower and find out," she threatened, already stumbling away from the bedroom. "Jarvis, what's happened, you tell me _now!"_

Jarvis argued when she grabbed her keys, but it wasn't the answer to her question, so she didn't care to listen. If he decided to tell her what she wanted to hear, she'd decide to put down the keys and settle again. But until then…

The car rumbled beneath her, and she slammed her foot down, backing out without a second thought. It was blind luck that no one was speeding down the suburban road at the time. "Jarvis, I know you can still hear me," she hissed absently. "Tony wouldn't have stopped at hacking my house."

The damn dashboard lit up. _"If you did not wish for his technology, you should stop accepting gifts from him."_

Samara thumped her head against the back of her seat. "He hacked the damn car," she realised with a sobbing chuckle. "I'm impressed. Now I know why he was so damn _eager_ to replace the one I lost back in fucking Cleveland. That piece of shit."

" _Please pull over."_

"Please tell me what's happening," Samara countered, breathing deeply. It was a three hour drive from her home to the tower, but she wouldn't make it ten minutes if she drove with eyes blurred by tears. "Tell me so I don't fuck up."

Jarvis seemed to be in thought, the previously dark dashboard now changing colours and dancing with different hues. If she wasn't so scared, she would've be memorised, and if she wasn't so pissed, she would've sarcastically noted _pretty pretty lights_ had to be considered a driving hazard – but as it was, she was only impatient for words. _"I am still reading a heartbeat from Sergeant Barnes,"_ he promised.

Samara nodded shortly, swallowing. "Okay, yeah okay…" she allowed, foot easing from the accelerator. "How's the traffic, Jay?"

The intelligence seemed confused by the sudden cheerful note, but he didn't question it. _"It is almost six o'clock, Doctor, it is rather busy, but the conditions are settling. Everybody is going home for the day,"_ he informed her gently. _"Perhaps you should as well?"_

"I'm going to the tower, and I'm waiting there," Samara decided, tightening her hands on the wheel, pain inching through the bone. "I don't care how you try to stop me either. Disable the car, and I'll fucking walk, I swear to god. I don't care if you promise me his heart – or the others hearts – are beating. I want to see it with my own damn eyes."

Jarvis argued almost instantly; _"You have three appointments tomorrow, and a meeting with three of the board members. You have people expecting you to show up when they call you. You have responsibilities. You have a life."_

Samara narrowed her eyes, biting back a scream. "Not without him, I don't."

Jarvis didn't argue so much after that.

* * *

It took far too long to reach the lit-up tower, and far too long to be allowed inside. It wasn't that the guards tried to stop her, or that the building didn't like her presence, it was more the goddamn artificial intelligence insisting she rest. Jarvis locked doors before she could reach them, shut down screens she tried to access. It was doing her fucking head in, and soon enough she'd hunt down his core and shut him down for good.

If that was even possible – and if it wasn't, she'd make it so it was.

Samara slammed her hand against a doorframe. "If you want me to rest, let me in," she commanded lowly, glaring up at the ceiling. "I need to see that he's still alive, so let me in."

The door remained tightly closed, and she let out a frustrated scream. Beyond that door sat machinery too complicated for her to understand, but it came together to show the team whenever an outsider needed to look in on their world. It could show whatever Tony could see through his visor, it would connect to their communications channel, and it could show their stats…

It could show the heartbeats, and it could let her hear his voice and that was all she needed.

"Jarvis, I will do something incredibly stupid soon, like try and punch my way through a steel enforced wall," Samara muttered, backing up and lifting her leg in a silent threat. "I will start kicking – and probably breaking bone – soon."

The voice that sounded was defeated. _"I do not think you want to go through the door, Doctor,"_ Jarvis admitted, but even with the words, the lock clicked and the door swung open the tiniest amount. _"Please do not."_

Samara hesitated. "Why?" she whispered, even as her question was answered.

The crack in the door was small, but it was enough to negate the sound proofing protecting the room. It was enough to let out the yelling, and the screams and someone begging another to hold on for a few more minutes. It was enough that she could hear the hellish nightmare the infamous team of superheroes had walked into, enough to hear her very world crash down.

Samara bit her lip against the sobs building, hand coming up to push the metal further. It swung open obediently under her hand, and the nearest screen showed red, the visor of the Ironman suit tossing as someone pummelled it down.

" – _Romanov is down, I repeat, Black Widow is compromised!"_

The doctor whimpered lightly, slowly stepping into the room, eyes glued to the flatlining heartbeat of the female assassin. "Natasha…" she realised, hand pressed to her lips. Warmth splashed onto her skin, and absently she realised tears were falling form her eyes. "Natty, _no…"_

Tony was looking around, the screen showing blurs of colour but nothing solid. _"I can't see Rogers, why can't – has anyone got eyes on Steve?"_ he begged, and the trademark whine of his repulsors sounded, the suit shooting upwards. _"Steve? Where are you buddy, come on…"_

The harsh scream of another flatlining heart sounded, and with her stomach knotting, she turned to look.

Clint was down.

Samara let out the sob then, collapsing against the floor when bright eyes flashed in her mind. "Oh, god no," she cried, barely managing the words through the burning in her throat. "Oh god, his kids, his children – his wife, oh fuck, fuck, please don't…"

Tony was panicking with her now, shooting at something she couldn't quite see and begging for someone to answer him. There was no returning voice, and with a start, the doctor checked the soldier's heartbeat – finding it weak, but still present. Steve was still alive, but he needed help, he needed someone on his six, shit she had to tell someone he was –

" _I got him."_

Samara stopped, one hand hesitating above the microphone. "Bucky…"

Tony had spun to face the assassin, and his face, the beautiful lines of his face were stained red. The doctor started crying anew. _"Where is he? Where – Is he okay? What happened to him? Why is this happening to – Fuck!"_

Whatever was killing them one by one was back, and with a scream she watched another heartbeat flicker away.

Samara just _stopped_ , feeling almost like the world had slowed around her head. That – that wasn't possible, was it? He was a super-soldier, he was fast, he healed even faster, he – he wasn't meant to _die._ "Bucky?" she whispered, stumbling back a step and landing on her ass. "Bucky, you… you can't…" Her eyes fell to the ground, her head screamed, her hands shook. "Buck…"

Jarvis gave a sigh. _"I told you that you did not want to come through the door, Doctor."_

Samara slowly lifted her head, stared through the visor of the suit as it pushed to its feet, as it stared into unblinking eyes. The assassin was sprawled out, pressed against a bloody crater in the wall of what looked like an office building, dripping crimson from the corner of his lips. "Bucky?"

" – _anybody there? Can anybody read me? Please god, someone answer me."_

The worn voice made her head snap to the side, eyes zeroing in on the microphone. It seemed like barely a second before she was there, pressing down and speaking into the mouthpiece. "Tony? Tony, it's m-me, it's Samara. I'm right here."

Tony didn't question it. _"Sammy, I'm sorry, it came outta nowhere, I tried too…"_

Her eyes drifted to the flatling heartbeat, and she felt something dangerously numb settle in her chest. "I know you tried," she whispered, shaking her head. It was a wonder her voice didn't break, that it held strong when she needed it. "I know, thank you so much. How – how you feeling? You okay?"

" _I'm a little… sore, I guess… tired…"_

The visor was looking around, and she could see it was clearly an office now, the neat desks looking calm despite the obvious harm around them. "Yeah, I don't blame you," Samara allowed, settling on her knees as she studied his surroundings. There was barely any destruction, and it while she wanted to question it, she didn't bother. "So, um, it's just you then?"

Tony grunted, coughing and the visor dropped. _"Yeah, just me… I uh, I don't think I'm gonna make it this time,"_ he admitted, forcing fake calm and cheer into the baritone of his voice. _"Think I might ugh, might clock out, you know?"_

Samara blinked, mind falling to the long windows lining the tower, to the long drop down to hard pavement. "Yeah, I think I might too," she whispered, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. It wasn't like she had people to miss her anymore, it wasn't like the absence would be noticed now.

" _Hey, uh, I wanted you to know that I'm – "_

The radio cut out and the visor's vision was quick to follow.

The doctor took in a shuddering breath, holding down the button and shouting into it. There was no answer, no voice, and she bit her lip until she tasted blood, one hand slamming against the desk holding it all up. Absently, she noted something cracked, that there was pain shooting up her arm, but her attention fell elsewhere, confused when sound came from the monitors.

The screen lit up once again, and the communication unit spat out static as it warmed up. There was something on the screen, something she couldn't quite make out, but it looked strangely familiar, almost like she – the doctor paused. _You son of a bitch._

" _I'm never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down! Never gonna run around and desert you! Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye! Never gonna tell a lie and desert you... We've known each other for so long, you know the rules and so do I…"_

Samara slowly backed away, her heart pounding and eyes suspiciously dry. "He's a dead man."

* * *

Bucky grimaced, sitting up and wiping away the thick syrup dripping down his chin. "You don't think this is a bit excessive?" he questioned, cocking a brow when the billionaire and the archer continued rolling on the floor, hands clutching their stomachs. "I don't even get the joke…"

Steve shrugged, dramatically draped across a shattered desk. "I don't either."

The apparently childish pair continued giggling, torn between trying to hold their guts together and smacking their hands on the ground. He didn't understand where they found the amusement, and if anything, he was starting to feel a little shitty for his part in it all. Even with their promise that the doctor would think it _hilarious_ and _she won't be made twinkle toes, trust me_ , he felt like he'd done something terrible.

Natasha let out a sigh, fixing her red locks. "It's a meme, boys," she muttered, smiling slightly at the humour but not as much as the two on the ground. "It might seem a little much – maybe murder and making her drive three hours was a bit excessive – but she'll appreciate it. From what I've seen she shares a sense of humour with the idiot currently rolling on the floor. If he's laughing, she will too."

"Well, if she wants blood, she's not getting mine," Bucky swore, shaking his head with a frown. "And mee-mee? What the hell is that?"

"If she wants blood, she'll have whoever's she wants."

All heads shot to the doorway, the previously laughing pair suddenly finding the time and strength to sober up. Bucky was almost pleased to note the billionaire looked scared shitless when the doctor started glaring. He wasn't the only one frightened of the woman when she was mad then.

Samara put both hands on her hips. "The fuck is your problem? Why would – what made you think you – how dare you – " Every sentence was aborted, and the woman let out a frustrated sound, looking like she wanted to start crying all over again. It was then he noticed the state of disarray, the way her shirt was crinkled and her face was streaked with tears. Damn it. "You better not fall asleep tonight, not if you wanna wake up."

Stark grinned – the fucking balls on that man – and winked. "I'll buy you another car?"

"No! Not after that damn last one," Samara shrieked, crumpling to the floor like her strings were cut and groaning into her hands. "I hate you. Why would you do that? Fuck I thought you guys were dying, or dead or… fuck, I hate you."

Bucky hesitated, crawling closer and sneaking an arm around her shoulders when she didn't argue his proximity. The woman's weight slumped against him, and the kiss she pressed to his neck was watery, a sign she hadn't controlled the tears for the second time.

He knew the plan had seemed a little to excessive, but even then, he couldn't say no to his friends, not when the friendship was still so _new_. "I should've said no when they brought this up, I'm sorry. I just didn't wanna…" he sighed, smiling weakly when she only waved it away. His beautiful ballerina was far too understanding, far too forgiving of his shit. His next words were louder; "I say you buy her a condo, maybe in the Bahamas?"

Samara perked up, both hands grabbing at the assassin like she was nervous he'd disappear. "I second that notion. Plus, you also have to pay the shrink I'm gonna hire," she grumbled, openly staring at said assassin as she spoke, even if the words were directed to another. He didn't mind being the centre of her attention, not one bit. "Because god knows I'm gonna need therapy after this."

Stark shrugged. "If you don't murder me in my sleep, then sure, I know a guy."

"And promise me you won't do that again?" Samara asked softly, closing her eyes. "I wanna laugh, really I do, but…"

Bucky winced, hugging her closer. "You'll laugh tomorrow, and I promise we won't do this again," he allowed, pulling back before melding their lips together in a lingering kiss. Her hands tightened in his shirt, but he didn't have the heart to complain.

"You mean, we won't do this again until next year, right?" Tony tried, smiling earnestly until golden eyes glared him down. He withered back, both hands coming up in surrender. "I'm only joking, ha ha… laugh with me here, guys, I'm pretty sure she's planning my untimely demise."

"If you wanna murder him, I'll swear to the court that it was an April Fools prank gone wrong," Natasha voiced.

Samara didn't even blink. "Done. You hold down his legs, I'll get his arms."

* * *

 **#Rickrolled**

 **Taila xx**


	5. Adventure V

The pile of paperwork hit the desk with a deafening _slam_ , the woman not caring when the boy before her yelped in surprise. "Never again, you hear me?" she muttered dangerously, scribbling out her signature in a mess of letters. "Sweetie, hey, yeah, remember black marks?"

The young receptionist fidgeted under her wilting gaze. "It's like a doctor strike? You get three and we don't… _service_ them anymore?"

"That's close enough. Just a warning though, saying we won't _service_ them makes it sound like we're prostitutes," Samara pointed out with a raised brow, nudging the pile of paper towards the young kid. It took him a few seconds to remember what, exactly, was in his job description, but then he hurried to start filing. "Hey, wait, before you finish that, can you add a black mark to my three o'clock? Clara F. Danvers."

The youth hurried to repeat the instructions back – training newbies really sucked sometimes – before scrambling to comply, leaving the doctor to sigh irritably and rest her head on the counter. It was like muscle memory, surgery that was, but it still tired her out. It wasn't until she staggered out from the theatre that she realised how _long_ she'd been in there, cutting into someone and adding silicon and confidence.

Samara pushed her head up. It was almost five, she could probably sneak home… "Hey kiddo? Have you seen – "

" _Ooh, Doctor, Doctor! Give me the news! I gotta, bad case of loving you!"_

The doctor in question blinked, narrowed her eyes, and then proceeded to hang her head in shame. " – Rachel?" she finished quietly, not quite sure she had the strength to deal with the oddly overly energetic woman. "Why the fuck are you so happy?"

Rachel, now graduated and caffeinated, bounced to her side. "Why the fuck aren't you?" she sung playfully, practically vibrating in place. It was clear she'd either started taking meth or swallowed a tiny child, her lemon scrubs winking in the light as she rocked on her toes. "Sorry I disappeared on you, I really had to pee. I had too much coffee. _Anyway._ I have those files you asked for, and there is also some paperwork on your desk that I kinda _really_ need by the end of the day. I know how much you hate paperwork, and I know how much your scary hot boyfriend hate's you being late home, but this is your job and you _do_ get paid…"

The rush of words was the only evidence the doctor needed, that yes, there had been far too much coffee that morning.

Samara gave a quiet chuckle, trying to mentally catch up with the words. "I got my scary boyfriend a cellphone, so don't worry about it. I can't always text him if I have too," she promised, pulling out her own phone and revealing the endless list of unread texts.

"Wow, is that just from today?" Rachel snorted, using her thumb to scroll through the frightfully length list. "Deadly _and_ clingy. You should text him and ask what he's wearing. That's what all the kids do these days. It's called phone sex. You'll love it."

Samara hesitated before shrugging, because hey, why the hell not? It was always fun to mess with the guy. "Okay, but I bet you twenty bucks he'll say something like; _the darkness, winky face…_ " she snorted, tapping out a quick text before letting the other woman check it over. "Awesome, I sent it, but don't expect a hasty reply. Buck still types with one finger." They both shared a pained look at the thought. "Now, what was this about paperwork? I finished last weeks, didn't I?"

"Yes, but now you've got this weeks."

Fuck.

The doctor pursed her lips, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "You know, I actually hate this business. It's horrible. You think I'm old enough to retire – " The question was cut short by the stupid chime of her cellphone, and they both made a noise in surprise. Samara sighed and calmed her beating heart with a hand to her chest. "It's amazing how he gives me heart attacks without even being in the damn building," she grumbled, unlocking the phone and reading over the reply. It only served to make her speechless.

Nope.

Samara blinked and looked up, throwing the phone into her pocket. "You know what, playtime is over. I've got work to do and so do you," she nodded wisely, brushing past the now stammering nurse. "It's best if I'm not interrupted."

"Hey what? No. Samara, what did he say!" Rachel squawked, sending the young receptionist a lost look before sprinting after the doctor.

There was a moment of panic as Samara struggled with the lock on her office door, but it clicked into place just as a body slammed into the wood. "Argh, you are no fun," Rachel groaned, knocking a few times to test the waters. It didn't open, and she sighed dramatically. "Is it dirty? Is he threatening to throw you up on your desk and just _pound_ your sweet – "

" _Rachel, stop!"_

There was a chuckle and then; "See? No fun…" before soft soles could be heard squeaking away. "I want that paperwork done, you hear me!"

"It's _only_ a text, dirty birdy!" Samara shrieked back, holding her breath until she couldn't hear the footsteps. In her hand, the phone vibrated again, and she barely had the courage to peek at the new message. _What has gotten into him?_ The texts should've been _way_ out of his comfort zone. "It's _only_ two texts now." It vibrated again. "Three?"

The doctor placed a hand on her blushing cheeks. _"I'm wearing absolutely nothing, gorgeous. Interested?"_ she read aloud, swallowing thickly at the mental image. It wasn't hard to imagine the broad stretch of his stomach and chest, to picture the way bronzed skin shone in the light.

His skin was exceptionally stunning when she'd caught him after a workout. Sweaty and… edible…

Samara blew out a breath, calming her mind as she opened the next text. _Come home early._ It was a tempting request, and she looked quickly to the pile of work on her desk. It was gonna be another hour without a doubt, and she couldn't take it home since her head nurse needed it before her own shift ended – but god, was she tempted to screw her job and go home anyway.

It had been what, several months already? Several months and the furthest they'd been _together_ was heavy petting and even heavier making out. It wasn't clear _who_ was stopping _who_ when it came to backing away from… intimacy, but…

Samara didn't want to push him.

It seemed like he wanted it some days, when he'd attack without warning, but when it came to anything more then what he knew, he always hesitated. It was almost like he waited for her to say even though she'd told him what she wanted after he hesitated the first time. Yet, knowing what she wanted, he still took a step back. It was like he was scared to break her?

The doctor blinked at her phone, remembering the last unread message. _"You know I don't like being ignored…"_ she whispered, biting her lip hard. It wasn't fair that the man could make her thighs ache and her stomach burn when he was miles away. "Just remember Sam, you leave now, you get fired. You leave now, you get fired. You leave now, you finally get your brains fucked out."

The snorted laugh that echoed made the doctor let out a scream. "Oh, do _not_ tell me he hasn't jumped your bones yet," the intruder muttered, sprawled out comfortably on the loveseat decorating the room. His presence made the couch look rich and homely despite its plain appearance, somehow even adding that same lush to the grease covered sweats donning his person. "I've seen the way he looks at you. Just like a predator and his prey. You go home now, you won't be able to walk tomorrow."

Samara only stared across the room. "What that actual fuck?" she muttered, spinning to double check the lock on her office. This wasn't something she needed Rachel to see. "Tony, I'm trying to convince my libido to _not_ skip work, not the other way around. What the hell are you doing in my office and – and wait, what the hell are you even doing in this _state?"_

The genius only shrugged. "I got bored, went out for a quick fly…"

That made the woman pause because – "Where's the suit?" she asked slowly, looking around her office. If the damn thing was parked outside in the small lot surrounding her building, she was going to scream at someone and that someone wasn't going to like it. "You did use the suit, right? You didn't start flapping your arms or something. Maybe, more accurately, flapping your _lips?"_

Tony eyed her nervously, posture slumping. "You know, I'll shamelessly admit that the reason I like you so much is that merciless sarcastic wit – but I really hate it when you turn on me," he grumbled, lower lip pushed out and arms moving to cross against his chest. "It's only funny when you're being a bitch to birdman, or maybe when you're punching the hawkman. There's no in-between. You're only allowed to pick on birds, okay? Things that fly."

"You fly."

"I'll be over here then, don't mind me, keeping my damn mouth shut," Tony grumbled, sending her a heatless glare. "Birds, by the way. Pick on birds. That was the whole moral of the story."

Samara only rolled her eyes, slowly going to drop into the leather seat behind her desk. It was difficult to settle down for the long haul, but she knew she had to get it done. "What's the moral of you being in my office? You don't finally want that boob job I've been offering, do you? Hear me out, if you have a pair you won't keep staring at everybody else's!" she taunted, grabbing the first file from the pile.

Hey, rhyming, sweet.

Skimming over the paper, she signed her name at the bottom with a sigh. "But seriously, what the hell do you want? If you're here to annoy me, I will pull a scalpel on your ass so quick you won't have time to get your suit."

Tony gave her his signature smile, one that would make most women _melt_ into a puddle at his feet and most men question their sexuality. It said a lot about her tolerance of him, and their friendship, when all she did was snort and go back to her work.

The billionaire took it in stride however, leaning forward on the loveseat. "Aw, I also love how you pretend you're not infatuated with me. There's no use lying love, I know you want – actually, I'm not gonna finish that sentence. Bucky _will_ hear it," he decided, glaring suspiciously at the door to her office. "Don't ask me how. Just understand that twenty miles doesn't matter to the man."

Samara quirked a brow. "Ah yes, because cock-blocking you is one of his superpowers."

"That explains so much."

The doctor only hummed and continued to absently work, glancing up at the man periodically. It was obvious something was worrying him, what with the messy clothing – he looked like he'd dropped everything and ran to her side – and the awkward way he fidgeted on the cushions.

Samara decided to throw him a bone, letting out a sigh to get his attention. "I wasn't expecting to see you today, although it's a pleasant surprise," she added idly, looking away from her work to shoot him a small smile. It earnt one back. "Did Buck tell you it's pizza night – and no, before you ask, there's no pineapple on _my_ homemade pizza. I'm not a monster."

Tony gave her a tired smile. "You don't have to play dumb, I'm being kinda obvious, aren't I?" he murmured, running a hand down his face, no doubt hoping he could erase the stress lines. "It's just… I thought you could help me with… you know…"

"Steve?"

The genius looked up in surprise, and she answered the silent question with a shrug. It was obvious something was bothering him sure, but guessing _what_ had been a fluke on her part. "Yeah," Tony murmured with a nod. "Yeah, it's Steve."

Samara pushed her work to the side then, leaning back and focusing solely on the billionaire. This wasn't what she expected from him – coming to her for help rather than one of his closer friends – but then again, he had a surprise up every sleeve and new sleeves every day. It didn't matter if there were ulterior motives behind him seeking her out. If he wanted her help, then he had it.

Abandoning her leather comfort, she moved to slump next to him on the couch, making sure he knew they were on the same level. "What about him? You two seemed okay when we visited last month?" she started, inviting him to tell his tale

Tony pulled a face, apparently disagreeing. "I thought we were too, but we're not?" he narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Listen, we… okay, so we kinda kissed and he kinda freaked and _I_ kinda freaked but… but he came back and we did it again, and then again, and then…"

"I already know?" Samara smiled warmly. "You kinda told everyone."

Tony started back in shock. "What? I did not tell – oh I told everybody," he stilled, the memory washing over him. "Was… was that when you guys were playing hide and seek, and I was so pumped full of caffeine I was practically a fleshy espresso machine? God, I'd hoped that was a bad dream."

Samara rolled her eyes. "Hide and seek? Bucky and I were in the middle of a life or death situation, I'll have you know," she grumbled, tugging on the long sleeves of her shirt. "I was hiding because I didn't want to _die_ in that tower, then you told him where I was! Trust me, you do not want to know what he did to me after that. I still have the scars. Mental ones, I mean – tickle torture is no laughing matter. Get it? _Puns_."

The genius managed a small smile. "My bad then, I guess?

"Apology accepted I guess," the doctor winked, nudging his side affectionately. "Now back to my gossip."

" _Your_ gossip?" Tony grumbled, rolling out his shoulders before diving hesitantly back into his story. "The uh, the long story short is we're not talking about it. It's like the kiss didn't even happen? I didn't mind so much in the beginning, it gave me time to think about it all, but now? Now he won't even be in the same room as me unless someone else is there too – and no, Jarvis doesn't count, before you ask," he snorted, brown eyes dropping to the floor. "Problem is, Natasha is leaving for a mission tomorrow so…"

Samara winced. "So, he won't be around you without her as a shield – and his shield is leaving tomorrow. That's both a hilarious pun, what with his weapon being a shield and her employers named _after_ a shield, but also quite the conundrum."

"Hence why I flew here for the help," Tony admitted. "You've tamed a super soldier before, so I was kinda hoping you'd tell me the secret."

This didn't seem like a super soldier problem. It seemed like any other relationship problem, but of course, the genius was looking far too into it. Samara gave a secretive smile, pursing her lips. "Who initiated the kiss? The first one, not the second or the third. The _first."_

Tony frowned at the question, but straightened up, apparently seeing hope in her smile. "Steve did," he nodded, turning more to face the woman. "The night we got back from Malibu? I was unpacking my shit and he kinda… kissed me."

Samara tried to prod him into realising where things went wrong. "Okay, so he kissed you and you didn't say anything about it," she pointed out slowly, twitching when all he did was nod sullenly. "I repeat, he kissed you and yeah, you kissed him back – but other than that, you didn't do anything about it? You didn't wanna talk about it, you didn't wanna maybe… accept the move he made?"

The billionaire wasn't slow. "Oh, for fucks – I didn't even – I can't…" he groaned, covering his eyes with his hands. "He probably thinks I kissed him 'cause I felt bad or something, doesn't he? Argh, that's such a _Steve_ thing. How do I fix this?"

"Make a move," Samara shrugged. "Bring him a bunch of flowers, ask him out on a date. Old fashioned."

Tony perked up at that, peeking out from between his fingers. "Red, white and blue roses?" he wondered, straightening up a little more with each word. It was almost like watching his confidence return. "There's a _Jaw's_ marathon at this small theatre in town this weekend. I mean, it's not really a movie he would recognize, but it's something he'd probably find funny don't you think? Also, the movies are long as hell, so more time with him."

Samara chuckled, happy to see her friend returning with every promising thought he had. "I demand photos of those roses. I'm not gonna ask _how_ you're planning on colouring some roses blue, because I'll probably be terrified by how your head works, but I'm still interested."

"Paint the white one's blue?" Tony snorted, as though the answer had been oh, so obvious. It took him less than a second however, to pause and give an awkward chuckle. "Now that I know the answer was so simple, I feel like such an idiot. I _actually_ flew all the way out here rather then like, calling you or…" he sighed. "I'll let you go back to your paperwork. It look's fun, all white and shit so – "

The doctor grunted. "Yeah, nice try. What else is rattling around in that old skull of yours?" she demanded, folding her arms and glaring the billionaire into submission. "Don't act like nothing's up. You're rambling. It means you're nervous – so spill."

Tony glared back. _"Old?"_

"Tony."

The genius blew out a raspberry, slumping back. "Just – _why_ did he kiss me?" he wondered quietly, shrugging for like, the hundredth time since he'd shown up on her couch. It was hard to hear the question while he looked so lost, like a puppy left outside during a thunder storm. "I don't get it?"

Samara _had_ to make him smile. "You see, when a man loves another man very much, he – "

Tony shut her up within a second. "Samara," he sighed.

The woman took in the downcast eyes, recognizing the edge of unease lacing strong shoulders. "Tony, come on, he kissed you because he _wanted_ too. You know him better than most, so you understand how stubborn and determined he can be," she nudged him slightly, forcing him to look up, frown and all. "I guarantee you, he would've thought on it for far too long. _Oh, but what if I ruin out friendship, oh but what if he doesn't like me in that way."_ The deep voice she used to mock the captain finally made the man smile. "But you know what? He would've thought fuck it and did it anyway. He would've thought you were worth it."

"Yeah, but what if I'm not?" Tony spilled out, not seeming to realise he'd said anything at first. "Also, uh, _no_ , he wouldn't have thought fuck it. Steve doesn't condone bad language – he would've thought _bugger_ or maybe _gosh darn_ if he was feeling rebellious."

Samara reached out, snatching up a calloused hand in her own. "Tony, rambling," she muttered pointedly, quirking a brow before breathing out a sigh. "Steve wanted to kiss you, yes, but I bet it took him _weeks_ to get to the stage where he was willing to act. Then you didn't say anything about it, you kissed him again sure, but you never wanted to talk about it. All those bad things he thought could happen, they might be happening in his own head."

Tony bit his lower lip. "He thinks I'm using him for the sex part, doesn't he? You don't have to say it, but with my reputation I'd think it too," he whispered, closing his eyes with a rough shake of his head. "I was avoiding it, yeah, but I was trying to think about what to say – writing my speech."

Samara nodded, humming and squeezing his hand.

"Because how? How do you start a relationship with _Captain America?"_ Tony demanded almost angrily. "He's so perfect, a bloody icon, and then there's me – aged and still a recovering alcoholic? Everybody knows all the shit I've done. In the media, its screw the good and work up the bad. Can you imagine what people might say to him if he outs our relationship? They'd tear him down, remind him he can do better…"

The doctor let out an unimpressed snort. "Nobody, I repeat, _nobody_ is perfect. There are some people I'll admit, that come really damn close, but they're never truly flawless. Steve seems perfect sure, but he's pretty pig-headed, isn't he? He doesn't listen to reason most days, and when he has a notion in his head he refuses to change it. He's almost like a child, he's far too forgiving and – and have you noticed there's a little bit of green in the blues of his eyes? I thought he was meant to be the perfect aryan? Consider me disappointed in my country."

Tony chuckled, eyes glittering with unshed frustration, but amused. "How do you do that?" he wondered. "I feel about three seconds away from screaming, but you're making me smile? Is that your superpower? Wait, is that how you manage the snarling mass of assassin that is your boyfriend?"

Samara hid a small smile, wrinkling her nose. "I don't like seeing people upset, never have, so I learnt how to make people smile. You wanna know why I became a doctor, Tony?" she questioned, leaning back against the couch and waiting for his nod. It seemed fair to give him her heart, since he was so willing to let her handle his. "Cancer took my mum when I was young, and dad pushed me towards medical school like it would solve everything. It didn't, studying the same disease that stole my mother killed me a little more every day, but then my roommate got some cosmetic surgery."

Tony nodded understandingly, chest moving in a slow pattern now that he was calming down.

"My roommate – Sierra – was a big girl in our first year. I mean big, clean over three hundred pounds, but she did something about it," Samara announced, still feeling strangely proud, even all these years later. "Lost over a hundred in the first year, and by our second holiday season together, she was beautifully thin, but she had tonnes of excess skin. It devastated her so much."

The billionaire was invested now, leaning forward with wide eyes. "It would, wouldn't it? Doing so much work but still feeling like you haven't done enough."

Samara grinned. "That's the one. I watched her struggle with it before I recommended going in to get it removed. It's not a cheap surgery, but her family decided it would be a good present and they all chipped in a little bit – even I donated to the cause," she admitted bashfully. "I'd never seen her so happy. Her smile after seeing her body for the first time was probably the most stunning thing I've ever seen."

"You wanted to make people as happy as that surgery made her, didn't you? God, you're like a character in some soap opera," Tony groaned dramatically, managing to keep up with the smile. "Could you be any more cliché?"

"It's also one of the highest paying avenues available."

Tony threw up both his hands. "Yay! I found a flaw."

Samara smiled, knowing she was about to ruin that apparent flaw for him. "I made enough money in the beginning I could permanently lower my prices within five years," she announced proudly. "I also had my own practise within seven, and donated enough to open a child's cancer ward before ten. I have more than enough money to happily support myself, but also that ward and my own practise. It may be the highest paying, but that's not the only reward."

The billionaire slumped back. "You ruined it," he complained, smiling lazily even as he whined. "You're a good person. I know it sounds weird, but if you weren't in the picture I don't know how I would've reacted to Bucky. Steve had tried to convince me of his dual personality and all, but you showed it. Bucky was so eager to make you happy, I couldn't justify a heartless murderer caring so much."

That brought forward a wince. "I am sorry, about your parents," she apologized properly. "I know he is too."

Tony hummed. "Winter Wonderland has already formally apologized to me," he admitted, rolling his head along the back of the couch. "He even had little speech cards. It was so adorable. I just had to forgive him…"

"You didn't have too," Samara muttered. "But thank you for forgiving him. I think it helped him more than he'll admit."

The billionaire pushed to his feet and gave a long stretch, fingers reaching for the ceiling. "Well, I mean, since he helped me, I could always help him." Tony said suggestively with waggling brows. The insinuations made them both smile and giggle like schoolgirls, enjoying their little inside joke. "Hey, I'm just saying. If you two are gonna have your first night together, it should be the best it can be. I'm offering to make you more experienced."

"You are such a little – " the doctor was cut short by a faint and familiar song, her brow coming together until she recognized the mission impossible theme music. "Holy shit. That's Buck's ringtone. His superpower isn't just a myth."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Captain Cockblocker to the rescue."

Samara snorted and hurried to yank the phone out of her blazer. "Shut up, and go buy some roses and blue paint, would you?" she instructed, pulling the finger when the man snickered. "Hey there Bucko, what's up?"

Mimicking her words, Tony headed towards her office window, fighting back laugher when he notice her enraged look. The unlocked window explained so much – mostly how he got into her fucking building without her noticing – and once again, all she could was flip him the bird and ignore his snorting giggles.

What a prick.

* * *

 **I finally updated? Impossible. That would break reality.**

 **Taila xx**


	6. Adventure VI

" – _all I'm saying is, bondage adds a little spice when things have dulled down in the bedroom, you know?"_

The doctor took a quiet breath in, phone pressed against her ear and patience wearing thin. "Um, okay, _thanks_ but uh..." she tried for words, staring out the window with furrowed brows. Tony managed to both confuse the heck outta her, but also make perfect sense at the same time. "Um, aren't you guys undercover right now? You know, very secret, hush hush, no random calls to your sarcasm bro?"

Across the world, but sadly only one phone call away, the genius snorted. _"Yeah, but I'm bored. Plus, the sexual tension winterboy's carrying in his pants is making me uncomfortable. That's saying a lot,"_ he announced. _"Nothing, I repeat nothing, makes me uncomfortable besides children."_

Oh god, what did she do to deserve this? Samara sighed, blinking hard when her eyes threatened to droop close. The light from the still awake city was almost blinding, bright and burning her eyes the longer she stared. "Tony, sweetie, it's one in the morning," she voiced soothingly, rubbing at her abused orbs and glaring at the open curtains. This was why she slept with her curtains _closed._

Closed.

Wait, why the hell were they open?

Tony made a disinterested sound, tearing her back into reality. _"It's only about three in the afternoon for me,"_ he confessed, slurping something – coffee without a doubt, she'd stake her fortune on it – as he paused. _"I'm meant to be staking out some small market stand that's selling imitation handbags. Crossbones, the cheeky bastard, is stuffing 'em full of that compound we're after. I don't think he should be focusing on selling designer purses though, from what I can see his talents don't lie in fashion. Those things are ugly. You want one?"_

Samara blinked into the darkness of her room.

The billionaire couldn't hear her confusion sadly, his voice continuing in an amused drone. _"It's this hideous snakeskin thing? I really hope he isn't charging people for the bag? Bloody cheap bastard. If I saw that monstrosity, I'd count my losses and go home. Compound or no."_

Pushing back the covers, the woman wobbled to her feet, yawning widely into a hand. There was a very low chance she'd be allowed to sleep now that the man had dug his claws in. "How are you guys gonna get your hands on one then?" she murmured, tugging hard on the door to her bedroom. It stuck, and she frowned down at it, canting her head in curiosity. "The guy selling them will probably recognize you."

" _He won't recognize Buckaroo though…"_

Samara tipped her head back in a drawn-out sigh, yanking hard once and stumbling when the door flew open. The frame cracked like thunder, and she winced, running her hand over it in apology. "Are you sending my boyfriend into the fire? I don't approve."

Tony barked out a laugh. _"I refuse to send anyone I love near fire, thank you very much. Have you seen what fire did to Crossbones? Got a face even his mother won't love,"_ he mocked, amusement strong in the smooth tones of his voice. _"I'll admit, the mask he's got can be annoying because punches hurt you more than him – but I'm glad he's covering up his face. Looks like someone spilt lasagna on him."_

It was the doctors turn to laugh loudly, feeling along the wall until she hit the open plan of her lounge. "That mental image will help me one day, I'm sure," she allowed, padding towards the fridge and consequently, the cake that lied within. "Hey, you got the others on comm?"

" _But of course,"_ Tony promised. _"Got something you want me to pass along?"_

Samara hummed. "Invite 'em over for dinner, would you?" she asked, rummaging around the cool box until her hands hit tupperware. "The hospital gala I went too? They sprung a raffle on us, donations for noble causes and shit. I bought a bunch and won – so long story short, now I have about five leg roasts and I'm scared. Help me?"

The genius made an excitable sound, something she almost wanted to call a childish squeal. _"We're always game for free food,"_ he declared, and his voice muted slightly as he spoke to the others. _"Yo, I got Barnes' better half on the phone. We've been invited to dinner."_

Samara couldn't hear the replies, being without the communications unit they were conversing over, but she could judge what they were by the man's reactions. There was a lot of defending on his part, so there must have been threats galore – _I need that limb to function the suit, you can't take it away from me –_ and the squeaky way his voice pitched showed they weren't friendly ones.

"I am going to take that as a yes," she decided, moving to sit down at the table and pick at the mud cake she'd pinched. It was the only reason she went to those blasted private functions every year, and she'd been damned if she left without a slice. "Oh god, I forgot how good this was. Tony, I need you to buy a catering company for me, consider it an early birthday present."

Her words were met with silence.

Frowning, she pulled the phone away from her ear, checking to make sure it was still working before listening once again. "Tony, you there?" she questioned, voice a little louder. "Hello? Come on, the threats can't be that creative."

Her words barely had time to settle when metal hit the table, dragging along the surface and ripping a scream from her throat. It took her less than a second to vault away from the sound, her phone crashing to the floor and her heart following soon after. There was a man standing in her kitchen – thin smile and posture proving it wasn't anyone she knew.

 _Well, shit._

A large hand waved at the mess of metal on her dining table, and her eyes flickered down for less than a second to take it in. There were lights, and buttons but that was all she recognized. "It is signal blocker," the stranger declared, accent thick. "I do not think you will be making call."

Breathing hard, the doctor gave the beeping device a longer look, lips moving without sound. "I don't…" she shook her head, trying to clear the confusion. There was only one man allowed to sneak up on her in the dark and this wasn't him. "Who are you? How – _how_ the fuck did you get in here?"

The man shrugged broad shoulders – _hah, my boyfriend's ones are bigger –_ and moved to sit down. "I am nobody you know," he replied easily, resting both hands on the table. "I used garage, came in as you parked your car. Hid. Waited."

Samara shifted her weight, the small bite of cake wrestling about in her gut. "You waited a while..." she whispered, taking a pointed step back.

"Two hours," he announced. "Not long. It was manageable."

Samara clenched her fists, feeling painted nails digging into her palms. "I'm glad. I'd hate for you to get bored. Now, how can I help you?" she asked pleasantly, keeping her chin up and the eye contact steady. That was the trick or so she'd been told, it was all confidence and bravado.

 _If you want someone to believe you're calm, try not to let your gaze fidget._

The man gave the empty room a pointed look. "I want the asset," he drawled carefully. "But he did not return with you, and he is not in house. Your partner has many enemies, you are aware, yes? Hydra has many enemies."

"He's not working for them anymore," Samara informed him slowly, swallowing past a distressed sound. "He got let go."

The man narrowed his eyes in displeasure. "I did not say he worked for them; I simply said they have many who dislike them. Allies they betrayed," he corrected, and one hand darted out to grab the abandoned cake. "When they betrayed us, they used the soldier, did you know? We understand he was only a lackey, but now he works for superheroes." The displeasure increased with the word, and the man took a hearty bite of chocolate. "He is idiot."

Samara let her eyes drift away, searching absently for her abandoned phone. It may not work in the house, but she had a car and the ability to run if need be. It would be embarrassing – her pyjamas were really an oversized shirt; she resorted to stealing from his dresser whenever he left for missions, it smelt like him – and if anyone caught her she'd never live it down, but it would be worth it.

"We did not want him dead when he worked for Hydra. It would only be waste. But now he works for Avengers, we have problem," the man said lowly, watching her from under a sharp brow. "Where is asset?"

"You want me to tell you where he is…" she started, frown growing. "So, you can kill him?"

The man's head dipped in a nod.

Samara rolled her eyes. "You didn't think this through, did you?" she taunted, crossing her arms against her chest. The phone was about two feet in front of her, the battery spilling out but it was a quick fix. "You're not expecting me to answer though, right? If you are, shit man, I would've betrayed you too because you're a fucking idiot. Hydra might have been assholes, but they were clever assholes."

Was displeasure all this guy could feel?

"You want to kill my boyfriend, and you expect me to help you because…" Samara slowly gestured to him, waiting for him to finish her sentence. "Come on, I'm drawing a blank here, help me out. I'm meant to betray him, why? What's in it for me?"

If he said the cliché line of – "You get to live another day," the man threatened. "Do not tell me and I will kill you as warning."

 _He actually said it?_ Samara gave the man a sideways look; he was a special kind of stupid. "As a warning that you're coming? Oh yeah, because he'll be even less of a threat if he knows," she snorted, hiding the fear beneath cockiness. There was a low chance she was going to survive the next twenty minutes, but she'd be damned if she let him know her train of thought. "Let's kill the assassin's girlfriend, because that won't end badly for anyone."

The man tilted his head back, staring at her down the length of her nose. "You are trying to convince me your death would be bad. It will not work. It would hurt the asset. His final moments would be in pain. That is not bad, but _good_."

"You are not threatening, but cliché," she muttered back, mimicking his accent with a small snort. "If you were gonna kill me, you would've. I know how this bullshit works. You want something, so I'm going to continue breathing until you have it."

The man had the audacity to chuckle. "Ah, I see why the asset adores you," he realised. "A pretty face hiding razor wit."

Samara pulled an _ugly_ face, openly moving to grab her phone and tsk at the damaged case. "You owe me a new phone, asshole," she grumbled, shoving the battery back in and pressing against the idle screen. It chimed lightly as it turned back on, and she breathed out a small sigh when the new light revealed no chips or cracks in the glass. "Oh, maybe you don't? Hey, random question; should I go Apple or Stark? I feel like – like that's a knife."

And it was, shining and gorgeous, and resting innocently on the table top between them. He hadn't lifted it against her, or pressed it against skin, but the threat of it was thick in the air around their heads. He'd use it if he thought he had too.

 _Try and keep you words short and to a point. Don't add in comments that aren't needed._

"I've seen bigger," Samara shrugged, because that comment was needed – Bucky's ethereal voice be damned.

The blade screamed along the wood, leaving a burning mark. "I want the asset, but this is something you already know," he started his spiel, pushing up from the table and placing both hands in the small of his back. It was a typical villain move, and she was waiting for the song and dance to start. "It is a location, that is all I want. You give me location, I take my leave."

Samara opened her mouth to argue, but the phone in her hand started vibrating. "Uh…" she peered up at the other man. "What happened to your signal blocker thing? Shouldn't it be…" Her fingers flitted awkwardly at the metal. "Signal blocking?"

With a frown the man picked it up, studying the flashing light curiously. "Why is the light red?"

Samara sighed. "I don't know?" she droned. "Try turning it off and turning it back on again?"

The man pursed his lips, nodding absently and mouthing something under his breath. Samara let him work, smiling awkwardly when he actually listened to her instructions. Damn idiot didn't know a thing about phones, did he? It wasn't exactly common knowledge, she supposed, not all people were aware that phones could in fact, _vibrate on demand._ Funny little world.

Samara stared down at the phone nervously, waiting until all the lights turned dark before holding down the third button. The dial tone was muted but she could hear it well enough to know it _was_ ringing.

" _Samara? Are you okay? What happened? Your phone die?"_

The doctor cleared her throat to cover the smooth voice, giving a wide smile. "You could always _wait_ for the asset to return, you know," she pointed out, gently moving to drop her weight in the nearest chair. Feigning a yawn, she rested her chin in her hand, letting her phone sit against her cheek. "I mean, if you wanna kill him why not show some patience? Killing me is only gonna make him cranky. Oh, and the others have grown… attached, you understand. The Winter Solider is one thing, but do you really wanna get on _Stark's_ bad side?"

Tony never needed to be told twice. _"Ten minutes. You'll have back up. Ten minutes okay, teen wolf?"_ he whispered, the words barely audible. _"Just hold on for a little longer. Count to sixty ten times or – or do a crossword puzzle."_

Samara watched the lights on the signal blocker start working again, and prayed that ten minutes really meant ten minutes.

* * *

 _The machine always hurt. It was a weird pain, like an ache behind his eyes, but he never dwelled on it for longer than a second. He could only try to identify it but before any cognitive thought could pass through his mind, the agony started anew._

 _It would hurt, and somewhere through the pain there would be words…_

 _The soldier didn't know what the words were. Like the pain, they were present but he didn't understand them anymore than he understood the burning along his shoulder or the chill in his bones. They were there, and that was all he needed to know. He wasn't meant to question things, because questions caused more pain and more pain caused more questions. It was a cruel cycle and they laughed every time he repeated it._

" _Good morning, soldier." The drawl was another thing he knew, a familiar lilting voice that would disappear sometime during the next few missions. That was their cycle, but he never found it as humorous as he should've._

 _The soldier turned his head, taking in the red hat and military garb. There was no use in answering._

" _I have a mission for you," the man smiled disarmingly, not meant to soothe but to mock. "We were working with a group – a low life gang – and they've outlived their purpose. They're now a danger to the world we're creating. You will take them down."_

 _His muscles were twitching through the aftershocks, and it was with a small start that he realised the pain had ended. He had no time to think on it however, his mind already boiling over with one word. "Mission?" he grunted, straightening up and hiding the wince when his muscles protested. Distantly he registered the sound of a gun cocking as he moved. "I'm ready to comply."_

 _The mission parameters were simple enough. The low-life gang would know who he was, they'd let him in, and once he reached the centre of their operations, he needed to start tearing it down. Once everything was destroyed, he needed to remove any evidence of his presence and then disappear._

 _He was good at that._

 _The soldier was granted access like they said he would be, his motorcycle left outside the warehouse and his gun left hiked upon his back. He'd almost expected them to take it away – not that he'd need it – but they'd barely looked twice at the metal. It would only make things easier for him, and painless for them. They didn't realise it, but they'd done themselves a favour._

 _The kingpin, leader, whatever the title was, was younger than he assumed he'd be. There were no grey hairs, no wrinkles, but there was experience. It showed in the way his shoulders sat._

 _He said something, but the soldier didn't bother to listen. He pulled the gun from his back and got to work._

 _As he'd thought, the mission turned out to be quite simple. They'd only been a small gang, starting in the world of organized crime and backwater dealings, and had nothing more than a dozen men on site. He'd dealt with more numbers before, and he'd done so with less bullets._

 _It wasn't until he ventured up the stairs that he hit something not so simple. He'd barely managed to find the staircase in the first place – as well hidden as it was – but stomping up them only confused him. There were two people at the top, both without weapons, and both not exactly in the position to fight back if he ran at them._

 _The brunette woman was cradling the child close to her breast, one hand messing in his hair and the other shielding almost all of his back. The soldier spared them a short look, checking over the room as they whimpered at his close quarters._

" _P-please…"_

 _The soldier turned at the words, face impassive and hidden behind a black mask. He sincerely hoped she didn't expect an answer. She was lucky enough he was even acknowledging her, not to mention that he spoke her native tongue._

" _He's only two, j-just let him go…"_

 _Let him go? What was he going to do with a child and his mother? He had no need for them and judging by their fear and the lack of weaponry, they weren't entirely versed in the world they'd stumbled into. What was the relation? How were they here?_

 _The soldier quirked his brow, wondering if she could read his curiosity through the mask. When all he received was more sobs, he hesitated, silver fingers coming to tug away the black mask. "Why are you here?" he demanded shortly, tightening the grip he held on the stolen pistol. It was nice enough craftsmanship that he was tempted to take it back with him._

 _The woman bit her lower lip. "My husband h-he said it w-would be…" she whispered, shaking her head. "We needed the money. I w-was pregnant we…"_

 _The soldier blinked. "Do you understand what is happening? What your… husband does?"_

" _I told him I don't want to know," she admitted in another whisper, cradling the child's head. The youngling made a sound, not quite managing words but managing to form gentle cooing. "I was only here because Stephen took his f-first steps and I wanted him to be a part of it and – "_

 _The soldier made a disinterested grunt. "I don't care."_

 _There was still babbling behind him, from both the woman and the child, but he didn't pay it any attention. The room was clear from what he could see, and without anything to warrant his presence, he was going to leave. The child and its mother weren't part of the gang, so they weren't part of his problem. His instructions didn't include family._

 _Spinning on his heel, he cracked the mask back into place and stormed down the stairs, leaving the mother and child behind him._

* * *

Samara struggled to keep her leg from bouncing, biting down on the nervous instinct whenever the man peered her way. He hadn't said much since the signal blocker had come online, and she'd consequently lost her only lifeline, but he seemed content to continue… waiting?

The doctor wasn't entirely sure what he was waiting _for_ but she left him to it. Their only problem would be if he was waiting for _the asset_ because fuck, she'd need to offer him accommodation if that was the case. Bucky wasn't due back for at least another week.

But then again, seeing as her backup would be arriving any second, maybe that's what he was waiting for? He can't have thought she'd be left unprotected, right? Dating the world's most renowned assassin put quite the target on her back, so it would be hilariously stupid if she was left without protection whenever he flew away on world saving missions.

Samara blinked – they _totally_ left her protection, right?

"I did not catch your name," the man suddenly mused, and it took her a few beats to realise he'd been studying her as she thought. Hopefully he hadn't caught anything useful on her features. "Masons was written outside, but I assume that is surname?"

Samara swallowed, licking chapped lips before answering with a clipped; "I don't go around sharing personal details." It was the first thing to come to her mind, and luckily the other only thought it was amusing, letting out a light laugh at the words. "It's bad for business."

He nodded. "What if I give name first?" he offered, both hands reaching out in a placating gesture. "I am Stephen."

Her eyebrows went up, surprise clearly written in the lines of her face. "I, yeah, I wasn't expecting that," she admitted, shrugging shamelessly. "With such a thick accent, I was expecting something a little more traditional, or cliché?"

Stephen seemed to agree with her, his head dipping in acknowledgement. "Russia was where I grew up, yes, but mother was not of blood," he revealed, not apparently caring that he was sharing personal information. He probably thought she wouldn't live long enough to share it with anybody. Joke was on him when she did and, and actually, as soon as backup arrived that was what she was going to say to – "My name was that of her fathers. He passed away before I was born. She honoured his memory with me."

Samara blinked, finding the conversation rather dull. "Uh, that's nice? I'm named how I am because…" she paused, shrugging. "I think it was dad? He probably heard it around somewhere, and had a lightbulb moment."

"What is name?"

"None of business," she countered without falter, narrowing her eyes and looking out the window. It wasn't averting her eyes if she was only looking for her backup. "You're gonna kill me remember? Screw you if you think you deserve to know _anything_ about me."

Stephen leant back at the aggression, lips turned down in displeasure. "That is not polite," he tutted, waggling a finger in her direction. It almost made her feel reprimanded for being rude, but then the knife blinked in the light and she suddenly didn't care much. "Your father did not have a lightbulb moment about teaching you manners, did he?"

Samara opened her mouth to argue, but stilled, lips pursed. "You turned that back on me?" she realised, nodding in admiration. "Dude, nice. I'm almost impressed. Almost being the key word, of course."

"Of course," Stephen agreed smoothly. "Why do you keep looking outside, beautiful one?"

The pet name made every hair stand on end, her stomach churning in concern. It was never good when they thought she was beautiful, when they realised she was a tiny female with no protection against the desires of others. "It's one in the morning, and I either look at you or outside. I don't particularly like you, so I picked outside. Why do you keep looking at me?"

Stephen canted his head from one side to the other, lips parting to reveal sharp canines. "You are… attractive. I understand why he would pick you above all others. You are smart and a trophy. You no doubt sound glorious as you are fucked, yes?"

See? It was never good when they thought she was beautiful.

"You wanna try and make your plan a little less obvious there Romeo?" Samara snapped weakly, her voice shaking slightly, enough that he noticed and only grinned wider. "You bad guys are all the same, aren't you? Unoriginal as heck."

Stephen stood, but she refused to react, only swallowing hard when he grabbed the knife from her reach. "I will leave you alive," he promised, circling the table until he hovered behind her seat. It took all she had not to tremble when a hand hit her shoulder, not to whimper when it toyed with the sleeve of her shirt. "Do you think it would hurt him to see an enemy had… used his woman?"

Samara steeled her nerves, eyes burning but refusing to let any tears form. "I would rather die, thanks."

His breath hit her ear, the foul smell not taking long to travel to her nose. "Oh, I know. It only makes me want to hurt you even more in this way," Stephen purred, the cold blade now travelling from her collarbone to the edge of the shirt, leaving a paper-thin red line behind. "Now… where? On the table where you eat? On the bed that you share?..." he listed, pressing harder to try and cut through the shirt.

The pressure only succeeded in cutting _her_ however and she winced at the feeling her skin splitting open, blood lazily dribbling around the curve of her breast. "I might wait for Bucky then we can fuck on your corpse," she hissed, refusing to admit she was absolutely terrified.

Torture. Oblivion. Death. Unconsciousness.

Those were things she wanted more at the moment then his hand slowly circling around to sneak under the shirt. Samara would rather a bullet in her brain than his hand rubbing up the bare skin of her thigh, would rather pain than the monster pawing at her waist and line of her hips.

Samara almost screamed when he rubbed the cotton of her underwear, not caring that the wound on her chest opened under the knife, not caring that she heard her phone shatter as she threw it away in her hurry to get over the table. "Don't you dare touchme," she heaved, feeling minutely safe with the table between them. _"Don't you dare!"_

Stephen grinned, the charming personality disappearing under venom. "Where is the asset?"

"Don't fucking touch me," Samara almost sobbed, noticing but not caring about the stinging pain on her skin. "He is going to make you _beg_ for death, you psychotic fuck."

Stephen shook his head, reaching behind his own body to pull out a small blade – _a butterfly knife,_ her mind supplied. "I'm going to make _you_ beg for death," he corrected slowly, smiling almost sweetly. "I might record it too. Do you think the asset wants to see what I'm about to do to you?"

In the space of a second, the knife left his hand and her shoulder exploded into agony. "Ah!" Samara cried and dropped like a weight, barely registering the man vaulting the table until he'd grabbed her waist and thrown her against the counter. "Get away from me!" she screamed, panic burning through her veins like molten lava when his hands tore at her shirt – at Bucky's shirt. "Please no…"

The monster posing as a man didn't seem to care, breathless when he revealed skin. "I might record this for me as well, actually…"

God, it would hurt her assassin to see it and she hoped he knew better than to watch whatever home movie was made tonight. Samara closed her eyes as a sob cracked through, one last ounce of strength going into driving her knee up in one fluid movement.

Her chest ached when the hit landed, the man falling to the ground with a groan as she scrambled to create distance between them.

Her shoulder hurt, worse than the super solider slamming metal against her ribs, and slowly she pulled out the knife. It wasn't what she should've done – the knife was effectively plugging the wound and stopping her from bleeding out – but she stared at the crimson blade, blinking almost owlishly before another groan caught her attention. The bastard was still on his knees, whining and holding his fucking nuts like a coward.

Samara breathed out slowly, her right arm limp as blood trickled down to drip from her fingertips. "Fuck you," she whispered, drawing the knife up and slamming it into the side of his neck.

It was probably going to haunt her… like shooting the doctor had…

"Rot in hell," she growled, watching him slink to the floor almost anticlimactically as he gurgled on his own blood. It was about then that she fell as well, legs unable to hold her up anymore, and her mind losing control as white hot pain took over – all her weight landing on the injured shoulder, and a scream tearing its way up from her throat.

 _Count to sixty ten times,_ she heard distantly in her mind, eyes locked on the unseeing ones staring back before they rolled back into her head.

* * *

Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months.

How _long_ exactly had it been since she passed out? There were faint sounds around her, but she couldn't quite open her eyes yet, the muscles not listening to her weak commands despite how much she begged. It was bad to be unseeing right now. There was a man in her home, a man that was going to violate her in the worst way possible, she had to wake up, she had to wake up, she had to wake up, she had to –

Samara groaned when she finally opened her eyes, faintly shocked to see her chest lifting with every breath, stunned to find a soft mattress when she fisted her hand in the sheets. Hadn't – hadn't she passed out from shock in her kitchen? Her kitchen wasn't lined with mattresses was it?

What, fuck, _was it?_

"Look who decided to wake up." The warm voice was familiar and tight with some weird emotion, and she slowly turned to met blue eyes, almost hazy as to why she was looking at them in the first place. Bucky was on a mission, he wasn't meant to be in her mattress kitchen. "Good afternoon, Sam."

Samara shook her head. "It's night time," she whispered, remembering that much. "One in the morning."

Bucky's lips twitched. "It's not night time gorgeous, it's day time," he corrected, approaching her slowly, like she was a wild animal – which she wasn't, at least at last check. "Can I touch you, Sammy? The doc said I should ask because…" Those blue eyes shut down, almost like the man knew how obvious his emotions were in them. "What happened?"

Samara frowned. "You didn't see the video?" she wondered faintly, because wait, wasn't... "Stephen said he was going to record it and show you. He didn't show you? He said he might keep it for himself…"

Bucky looked furious for a split second before it was smoothed over, calm written on every line. "Stephen is dead."

 _It was probably going to haunt her… like shooting the doctor had…_

The woman remembered that now, the way his skin had split under the knife, like when you drive down into warm butter. "Oh. I killed him," she whispered, waiting for the horror to dawn on her, the shock to settle like ice in her veins but...

Samara frowned heavily. "I don't care?" she realised dumbly, looking over to bright eyes. Bucky's lips were twisted in confusion, but when she shrugged, he only quirked a brow. "I'm hungry, can I have something to eat?"

Bucky smiled, his entire face an odd sheen of relieved pain. "Anything you want," he promised, hesitating as he placed a hand on her forehead. "How are you feeling first, gorgeous? They had you on some strong painkillers and the doctor said it might screw with your stomach. If you're hungry though I guess you're not nauseated? How's your shoulder?"

"I'm fine..." Samara yawned, and oddly enough the words rang with truth.

Stephen was dead by her hand, but the little bastard had deserved it, had threatened not only her life but that of the person she loved most. Part of her regretted it, some quiet echo in her mind mourned her innocence, but the other voices of content relief were far louder. Regret was drowned out – besides this was the second man she killed. Samara was basically a pro now.

The doctor said as much while her assassin talked to a nurse about her lunch. Bucky snorted and came back to her side, curiosity written on the lines of his face. "Only two? I'd call that luck not skill."

"If I kill you, that makes three..."

Bucky gave a warm, almost _proud_ smile. "That's make you dead," he whispered, leaning closer to press a soft kiss to her lips.

 _Just_ as she was getting comfortable, leaning into the kiss like the touch starved idiot she was, the assassin shot back with horrified blue eyes. Sam wanted to ask what was wrong, wanted to look around and find what scared him so badly, but it hit her before she'd even opened her mouth.

Stephen has touched her. She was ruined.

Samara gave a thick swallow, waving a hand when he reached out for her. "It's okay," she muttered, coughing when the words came out choked. "I'm sorry."

Bucky was shaking his head slowly. "Jesus no, _I'm_ the one who should be sorry," he growled, running a hand roughly over his tied back – oh, was that a man bun? – locks. "I was meant to give you space and of course the first fucking thing I –" A soft snarl cut the words short. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

Samara blinked dumbly. "Repeat that?"

"Your shirt was _torn_. You had no pants. The – " Blue eyes drifted close, his entire face spasming into something almost inhuman. "The rape kit came back negative for any... anything... but that doesn't mean he didn't..."

 _Oh._

Samara leaned forward, hissing out pain through her teeth. The sound only made the man rush to her, grasping her hand pushing her back with exaggerated care. "He didn't," she whispered, grimacing when she landed oddly on her injured shoulder. "He tried – he tried, and I was terrified but..."

Soft lips pressed against the crown of her head. "But he didn't."

"You're not him. You're allowed to touch me," she promised quietly, sighing when his free hand moved to scrap over her scalp. "I'm not scared of you, or of the doctor touching me. I stopped him and if anyone tried again then – "

Bucky happily took advantage of her words, pressing a hard kiss to her lips, showing what he'd been holding back. "They won't. If they do, I'll be there to kill them with my own hands. If I'm not, then don't doubt another one of us will," he swore, humming as he peppered kisses up over her face, not caring when she squirmed and laughed. "You, my danger magnet, are getting sparring lessons."

Samara pushed his face away with a torrent of childish giggles, wiping her face. "You really want to teach me how to fight? What happens if we get in a disagreement one day and I swing a punch? Huh? Dumbass."

"I'll fix your helplessness, darling, I didn't say anything about fixing your stupid."

Samara felt oddly gleeful to even hear the backhanded compliment, to be able to see that gorgeous fucking smile again. "You're a right bastard," she teased without heat, unable to stop grinning. Yes, that night scared her and being alone for a while was going to suck. Yes, her shoulder was aching like a bitch, but the wound would heal. Yes, this was a terrifying reminder of what being with her assassin could bring to her life.

But she was still kicking, and she had him beside her. It didn't matter what happened to them both if this was where they ended up afterwards, still smiling, still happy, still –

Samara felt her cheek twitch. "Buck. What's that."

Bucky turned to follow her pointed finger. "Oh, that?" he shrugged, going to the door when the nurse brought in food. It didn't matter that he dangled the plain bagel in front of her, she wouldn't pay him any heed. "What's wrong with it? Tony said you'd like it."

The doctor only continued to stare.

The handbag stared back.

* * *

 **Here we go, another century and another chapter! I would update more but I work far too much and have far too much to do. I'll try to do better, but I can't promise anything either, sorry sweeties.**

 **Taila xx**

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